


meet me in the afterglow

by wanderwithme (wanderlustt)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, From Aobajosai to Argentina BABY, Love Triangles, Teenage Dorks, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustt/pseuds/wanderwithme
Summary: You try to push past him towards the door, but he grabs you by the arm. “What are you doing?” He says again, as if repeating the question will do you any good. “You have a boyfriend.”You rip your arm away from him, “We're not together anymore."In which Oikawa shows up with flowers while you show up with Ushijima.*COMPLETE!
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 98
Kudos: 393





	1. ultraviolet morning light

**Author's Note:**

> no one told me oikawa made a comeback in the manga and now i’m feeling some type of way. like, i'm so happy i'm shaking.
> 
> so to preface really quick, this a rewrite of a super super old story i had sitting around in my docs because i think i’ve grown quite a bit as a writer since i wrote this 3 (4? 5?) years ago and because i can’t look at that /thing/ without wanting to gouge my eyes out. i know the fandom doesn't care much for reader fics, but hey, it makes me happy, so hopefully it makes the few of you out there who enjoy this kind of content happy too.
> 
> for the purposes of the story, reader does have a name & backstory. rated-E as things ramp up -- as these high school teens figure their shit out and as they grow up to become fully formed humans with needs. because i fully intend to explore the argentina-storyline as my endgoal (with a total of seven chapters, please, fingers crossed). also, i will 100% finish this (as i already have every chapter written, just un-edited and unrefined), so this will not be one of those fics that leave you hanging, i promise.
> 
> [spider-noir voice] alright, let’s do this one more time. 8)

**_day 300_ **

“Can I take the blindfolds off now?”

Oikawa grins a toothy little grin, untying the knot of the sash around your head before stepping forward, motioning to the brick wall sitting in the empty field like some kind of magician presenting the prestige of his final magic trick.

“ _Ta-da_!”

You squint at the wall, unsure if you’re missing something, _wondering if this is some kind of practical joke_ , and your smile slowly begins to fade as you assess the utter look of pride and satisfaction written all over Oikawa’s face _because, holy shit, this is not a joke_ \-- he's being totally serious.

“You…got me a wall?”

He nods. “Yep.”

You look around the empty field one more time to check if you’re missing something, to make sure this isn't a prank that’s outstayed its welcome, but there’s no punchline and no gotcha moment, and when you look up to meet his gaze, you realize he’s waiting for you to react.

_Shit_.

_Fuck._

_Shit._

For a moment, he catches you off kilter: his skin has a nice coat of sweat, his shirt is sticking fast to his chest, and it's almost too obvious he’s just stepped off a volleyball court.

_It’s the reason why he was late in the first place, the reason why he’s trying to make up for it now_ , _and the reason why you won’t buy it_ as you clench your fists and lower your gaze to the ground, trying to muster up the proper words to explain _why this is so fucked_.

When the silence stretches too long, Oikawa ushers you towards the brick wall, not at all sensing the tension that sits between you two. “Think of it as a canvas,” he chimes, hands lingering a moment too long on your shoulders to be accidental. “You like drawing, don’t you?”

And then it dawns on you, suddenly, that this is supposed to be some romantic gesture. _But it’s too late and your patience is running on empty_ and there's no turning back now. “You’re ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, and you can tell it’s not the answer he expects because that stupid smile of his vanishes in an instant and he’s staring at you like you’ve just told him his puppy died.

“C’mon, Sawa-chan. Your grandfather was the one who said you had talent. And that has to mean something, right?"

You open your mouth to interject, but you bite back the insult that’s hanging loose on the tip of your tongue. If you’re not careful, you’ll surely say something you don’t mean, _something you can’t take back_. “Don’t… _talk to me about what he said_ ,” you seethe, turning and making your way down the fields of grain. “Don’t mention him to me again.”

It doesn’t take Oikawa more than a few steps to catch up. “ _Oi_ ,” he says, voice low and steady as he grabs you roughly by the shoulder. “What the hell is your problem?”

“ _My problem?_ What the fuck is **_your_** problem,” you seethe, shaking off his hand from your shoulder like it’s a shitstain holding you back. “I didn’t even want to get into this but why the hell would you bring my grandfather up? If you want to make a stupid romantic gesture, _then make it_ \-- but don’t mention my family because it's convenient for you."

Oikawa frowns, taking a step toward you only for you to take a step back away. “You can’t hold a grudge forever, Sawa-chan. He didn’t do anything wrong. He cares about you.”

“ ** _STOP._** _Please_. Just stop.” You’re on the verge of spilling profanities, spilling words you mean in earnest that might just push him away forever, and you’re trying desperately not to look down and let the tears spill because then you’ll know you’re not the only one here who’s done something wrong. “I…I can't do this right now."

But he catches your tears and if there’s anything he’s unequipped to handle, it’s a girl on the verge of a breakdown: _the same sad little story – the girl who cries and the boy who runs away at the first sight of conflict_.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you whisper, and it takes him a moment to truly digest what you say, _what you actually mean_ , because the last thing he expects is a break-up. "I don't...I don't want to do this." You're babbling, repeating yourself, acting _completely unlike yourself._

Before he gets to truly comprehend the reality of this situation, you turn your heel and start running downfield towards the main road.

Oikawa takes one last look at the wall before bolting after you.

His knees are going to give out from the sheer pain, but he grits his teeth, _irritation pulsing through his veins_ , until he catches up to you, his fingers just out of reach from your shirt. _Maybe it’s the pang of disappointment, or the fact that you won’t spare half a glance at the gift he’s spent months saving up for_ \-- or maybe he’s just projecting because of his bum knee and the fact that this might mean the end of his volleyball career for good. He doesn’t know, and at this rate, he doesn’t care anymore.

You sense him coming up behind you, but before you can react accordingly, he grabs you by the wrist and stops you roughly in your tracks. “I’m ridiculous?” He snaps, leaning down to meet your gaze close. “ _You’re ridiculous!”_

Completely thrown off by his sudden change in demeanor, you wince. “What’re you—”

“Why the hell are you still beating yourself up over something out of your control?” He seethes, poison hanging thick from every word. “ _You’re just wasting your talent, you_ idiot. Don’t you have dreams? Aspirations? Ambitions? Don’t you have something you want to pursue?"

He knows he’s fucked up because that look of contempt fades into something of _sheer horror_ on your face, but he’s in too deep and there’s no backing up now that the truths are spilling. “Those stupid video games you play? _Math team?_ Are those really the only things you care about? What the hell do you dream about, huh?” Both his hands come to your shoulders and he’s grasping you so tight it hurts. “ _Tell me!”_

You wrangle yourself out of his grip, still staring at him like he’s a monster you don't recognize anymore. By the time you turn away, he already knows he’s unloaded a mountain of words he’ll never be able to take back.

He watches you run as fast as you can, as far as you can, never turning to look back, until you’re out of reach -- too far to catch.

This time, he decides, he won’t chase after you anymore.

**_day 1_ **

Things weren’t always so complicated, but Oikawa can pinpoint it to the day he meets you -- you, _with your pretty pink skirt, your button-up --_ standing in a sea of yellow sweater-vests and white blazers outside the gates of Aobajosai High.

He stares at you -- your eyes are startlingly green, your hair auburn red -- and wonders where you’re from, if you’re new around here, and if you know the dress code or if you’re willingly choosing to ignore it.

“Cute,” he says casually, turning away _because there are other girls just like you_ and because there are other matters on his mind outside of you; contrary to belief, he’s not all fangirls and vapid jokes at Iwaizumi’s expense.

Iwaizumi, of course, who happens to be yawning as he makes his way towards the gate, where a crowd has gathered. “She looks like a city girl."

Watari is the next to join them. “That’s Sawari-san. She just transferred from Shiratorizawa last week. She’s in my English class.” He beams, waving to you, only to blanche when you completely miss him in the crowd. “She’s really smart.”

“Can’t be that smart if she transferred from Shiratorizawa,” Oikawa chimes, realizing that _that’s_ probably why you look so out of place.

Iwaizumi flicks him on the forehead, eliciting a scowl and a whine. “Why the hell are you talking shit about someone you don’t even know.”

“I’m not!” He protests, frowning. “I’m just -- _well,_ she kind of looks like my type, right?”

This earns him a smack in the back of the head, which makes Watari laugh out loud.

You catch his gaze and blink, making a B-line towards him, pushing this way and that through the horde of students until you reach the space before him. “Oikawa-san?” You say, and your voice is steady and sweet, not too high, not too deep, _just calming_.

He greets you with a mock-salute. “Yo.”

You reach into your backpack -- _and it’s a nice backpack, from what he can see_ : it looks expensive, probably some designer brand -- and pull out an envelope to hand him.

“Fan mail?” He quips, grinning.

“A letter from the dean’s office,” you state, plainly, voice utterly bereaved of any humor and joy. “You’ve been suspended from all extracurricular activities for two weeks.”

Iwaizumi blinks, squinting at you, “What do you mean _suspended_?”

“It seems like Oikawa-san failed his calculus final,” you answer stiffly, sizing up the very tall and very broad brunette standing before you like he’s some unremarkable dummy getting in your way. “Honestly, you’re lucky he wasn’t suspended for a whole month.”

Watari laughs nervously, “Sawari-san, shouldn’t you have told him somewhere…private?”

“His grades are posted publicly, aren’t they?” You say, looking over the papers. “Not like it’s a big secret around here. Anyone with half a brain can see he’s consistently ranked last in math.”

Point taken.

Oikawa frowns, staring at the dean’s notice in absolute disbelief, trying to read between the lines to see if there’s something he’s missing, but you’re right -- _of course you’re right_ \-- and by the time he looks up to ask you why _**you** were sent to deliver the news_, you’re already gone from sight, vanishing into the crowd of students gathered at the gate.

“ _Yeesh_ ,” Iwaizumi frowns. “What’s her problem?”

Watari laughs nervously, trying not to look too frazzled as he makes his way down the steps of the entrance. “That’s Sawari-san for you. She’s really serious. She joined the math team her first day here.”

“No wonder she’s on Suda-sensei’s good side,” Iwaizumi tacks on tartly.

Oikawa tucks the envelope into his backpack -- _he’ll deal with this crap later_ \-- and starts on the pathway towards the gymnasium, which sits tucked behind the main building. “Why did she even bother transferring?” Naturally, he's wondering how he’s going to break the news to coach Irihata. “Should’ve stayed at Shiratorizawa, as far as I’m concerned.”

Watari purses his lips and tugs on the strap of his satchel bag. “I think she mentioned she wanted to be closer to her family.”

How boring. Oikawa hums a little tune, making his way down the field while Iwaizumi and Watari follow from behind. “Hm. Maybe we’ll keep this a secret for now, just between the three of us,” he sings and _winks_. “Just until I talk to Suda-sensei about how I can…lessen the severity of my suspension.”

Iwaizumi just looks at him with disdain. “You really are a dumbass.”

**_day 5_ **

It works.

It actually _freaking_ works.

With a little bit of sweet talk, a little bit of flattery, and a little bit of concerted effort to look like failing has actually made a dent on his conscience, Oikawa manages to weasel himself back into volleyball practice.

It takes some bargaining, of course, with Suda-sensei, and an allotted expectation that he needs to pass his next test with flying colors: he’ll be assigned a tutor, he’ll be assigned extra credit, and he’ll be assigned a bigger workload _for practice_ , and Oikawa knows better than anyone that practice makes perfect—but enough about that later.

Because the grand _freaking_ king has actually managed to weasel his way back into volleyball, which is a feat in and of itself. It’s the con of a lifetime and he’s not looking back. Nope, _never_.

He sprints up and down the floors of the freshly waxed volleyball court, relishing the smell, the sound of sneakers squealing across floorboards, and the groans of irritation as Irihata-sensei calls for them to do another lap.

“Can’t believe you actually got away with it,” says Iwaizumi, handing him a towel after their warm-ups come to an end. “What the hell did you even say that made someone like Suda-sensei change his mind?”

Oikawa winks, taking the towel and dabbing away the beads of sweat from his neck as he faces the open court, _taking it all in_. “That’s a secret, Iwa-chan.” He beams, _loving every moment_ because there’s nothing better than endorphins and the secret of knowing that he’s gotten away with something he shouldn't have.

At that very moment, the gym doors screech open, and _there you are,_ standing in the doorway, staring right back at him with a frown on your face.

Everything goes silent as you stride towards him, your thigh-high boots clicking against the floorboards smoothly -- _hey, that’s weird, he quite likes the sound of it --_ while your trench coat sways gently behind you. Every member of the team is watching you, _waiting_ , and Oikawa realizes that Iwaizumi is absolutely right: you look like a city girl through and through, but maybe more importantly, _you like someone who doesn’t belong here at all._

He smiles. “Sawa-chan, what a nice surprise.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you deadpan, crossing your arms when you meet him. “I’m your new calculus tutor. Your first session begins tomorrow in the library.” You cock your head to the side, as if assessing to see if you’re missing something. “And one more thing, _stop calling me Sawa-chan_.”

**_day 8_ **

Oikawa is many things: he’s handsome, flirtatious, analytical, _keen_ , athletic—

“Are you serious? _We’ve been over this equation four times_ ,” you snap, leaning back in your chair and massaging your temples because this is _actually giving you a full-blown headache_. “Are you really as vapid as you look?”

_Well_ , looks can be deceiving and he would know that better than anybody. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think Sawa-chan?” He pouts, looking at you from across the table with wide puppy dog eyes, hoping you'll go easy on him.

At the sound of the nickname, you frown. “At this rate, you’re going to fail the whole class. Don’t you care about the future?”

_Of course I do_ , he wants to say, _more than you would know_.

He’s been banking on his future since the day he picked up his first volleyball, though it’s probably not the kind of future you’d expect. But he figures someone like you wouldn’t understand either— _you’re a city girl_ , what would you know about small towns and sacrifice? From what he could surmise, you’re probably somewhat of a brainiac. The life of an athlete is something that’ll go completely over your head. _So not worth his breath_.

So he puts on another smile and pleads with you to explain it one more time and for what it's worth, you don’t buy it, studying his face from the across the table with your arms crossed like he’s a puzzle you can’t quite put your finger on. “If you’re not going to listen, what’s the point? You’re just wasting both our times.”

He pouts, “ _Please,_ Sawa-chan?”

You’re still staring at him, _watching him_ , and there’s something ticking away in your mind that comes to an abrupt halt that he doesn’t expect. Suddenly, you sit up, picking up your pencil from the table and pointing to the equation on the page. “Listen up so I don’t have to repeat myself, alright?”

“I will, Sawa-chan.”

You sigh. “And _please_ stop calling me that.”

**_day 9_ **

“Do you get it?”

“Yes.”

“ _Really?”_

“Yes, Sawa-chan!”

…

“Really.”

“Um. Maybe just one more time then?”

**_day 10_ **

After another _thrilling_ study session, Oikawa has come to two conclusions: 1) _You are_ definitely **not** his type, what with your many faces of irritation every time he asks about Shiratorizawa and that look of perpetual boredom on your face when you have to explain something twice because he's wasting your time -- _as if you have anywhere better to be_. 2) You're definitely hiding something.

As he makes his way towards his locker, he catches sight of three girls lounging in front of it. One of them blushes and bolts in the other direction while the other two giggle and follow suit, throwing him glances that he catches with ease. Behind him, you’re observing with your head cocked, until he comes to a full halt in front of his locker, spinning the designated code.

“You sure have a lot of fans,” you tell him, somewhat miffed by the number of cards and presents sitting inside the doors when he opens it. “How do they know your locker combination anyway?”

“Hold this for me.” It takes him a moment to shuffle through all the trinkets and gifts before he unearths what he's looking for. “Someone must’ve leaked it, but I think it’s pretty neat.” He bestows you with a single chocolate wrapped in pink tissue paper. “It’s like having a surprise waiting for you every morning.”

You accept the chocolate, somewhat hesitantly, studying it like you’re studying for poisons. “Doesn’t it get overwhelming?”

“I’m grateful for all my fans.” It’s practiced and true, and he has the whole diatribe down to a pat. “What’s there to be upset about?”

Still, you’re cradling all these trinkets and wondering if he actually gets to put any of these things to good use. But it really does look like he doesn’t mind, as he pulls out a small black case—a pair of glasses.

You blink. “ _You_ wear glasses?”

As he takes back the gifts you’re holding, he frowns because it sounds like you’re insulting him. “Contacts, usually. But my eyes are tired today. _What’s with the tone, anyway_? You got something to say?”

“No, not really,” you answer rather simply. “You should wear them more often. They look nice on you.”

**_day 11_ **

Oikawa is definitely no slouch when it comes to picking up new concepts, but his attention span leaves something to be desired.

You wave your hand emphatically in front of his face, which snaps him back into reality, _a reality…_ of practice sets. _Ugh_. “Jeez,” you mumble, pointing your pencil at the next equation. “Do you only think about volleyball?”

“What makes you think _I’m thinking about volleyball_?” He shoots back, somewhat defensively because _you’re the one being defensive and rude_ and he doesn’t know how to back down first without looking weak. “For your information, I’m thinking about my date tonight.”

“So, two things. Girls and volleyball.”

He knits his brow, which elicits a laugh from you. _It’s the first time he’s seen you laugh_ and the sound of it is enough to jolt him out of his irritation. You look pretty, he thinks, when you laugh, _prettier than you probably know or care for_. It takes him another moment to realize that you’re actually _teasing him_ , that for once, you’re not looking at him with utter contempt and annoyance.

You’re wearing their school uniform today. It suits you, but he thinks pink might suit you better. Everything about you is pressed and manicured, from your white button-up to the tie around your neck.

_City girl_ might not do you justice.

*

The sun’s already setting low when you and Oikawa depart from school. There’s some silence, _some awkward pauses_ , and he’s not really sure how to strike a conversation with you that doesn’t feel contrived or forced. Without math in the equation, he’s coming up empty.

You tug on the straps of your backpack. “Are you free Monday for review before your retake?”

_“Ah_. Actually, Monday’s no good for me Sawa-chan.” He makes a little ‘x’ with his index fingers for extra emphasis. “I have plans.”

At the sound of the nickname, you frown again, but decide it’s not a battle worth pursuing, not at this rate anyway. “Your retake is Tuesday. Are you sure you can afford skipping review?”

He pauses, _thinks it over_ , and assesses his remaining options. Truth is, he’s supposed to hang out with his nephew, Takeru, but he also can’t afford to fail. _No, worse than that, he needs to pass with flying colors_. And if he doesn’t, he might just be suspended from all after-school activities until he graduates.

So after some mulling, some consideration, and after watching you writhe in discomfort, waiting for an answer, he decides to say: “Fine. But we’ll have to meet somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I already have plans,” he explains, slowly, like he has all the patience of a holy saint. “It’d be rude to cancel last minute."

You frown again, stopping short at the gates of the school to meet his gaze. “You’re not going to make me third wheel your date, are you?”

When he fully manages to digest your words, he bursts out in laughter, holding onto the bars of the gate, keeling over because he’s trying to catch his breath and stop the tears from escaping. Somewhat miffed by his reaction, you blush -- _you actually blush_ \-- and he almost misses it because he’s laughing so hard his abs are aching.

When he finally regains his composure, he wipes away a tear that’s managed to escape the corner of his eye and tries to look your way to see if you're still blushing. “Not _those_ kinds of plans. What kind of person do you think I am, Sawa-chan?”

You smile, opening your mouth to snap back with something snarky, but—

“Oi! Oikawa!”

Turning around, you catch sight of the volleyball team heading out the gymnasium in a sea of teal and white. From what you can surmise, they’ve just finished practice; leading the way is Iwaizumi, and next to him, Watari and Kindaichi. It doesn’t take them long to congregate around you, and suddenly, you’re very aware how out of place you are among them.

Oikawa grins. “You haven’t taken over my role have you, Iwa-chan~?”

“Idiot. How was your tutoring session?”

“Good, thanks to—” He turns to include you in the conversation, only to realize that you’ve already vanished from sight. “Oh.” He elbows past Watari towards the gate, where he sees the back of your coat, swaying in the wind.

As if you have two eyes on the back of your head, you turn around, wave at him, and smile before taking your leave.

*

**sawa-chan** : if you have any questions  
 **sawa-chan** : let me know  
 **sawa-chan** : i think if we just review before the exam  
 **sawa-chan** : you’ll do well  
 **sawa-chan** : have fun on your date tonight

**oikawa** : wow  
 **oikawa** : sawa-chan  
 **oikawa** : you’re so much nicer over text

**sawa-chan** : -_-

Kaede, a cute second-year, is waiting for Oikawa at the entrance to the open marketplace by the bay. She’s pinned back her long black hair, she's wearing makeup and perfume that smells like flowers. Her skirt is pink and he notices it looks somewhat like the skirt you had been wearing the first day he met you.

A smile forms on her face when she catches sight of him. He shakes the thought off. “You look really cute, Kaede-chan,” he tells her, grinning, and when she blushes, _he truly believes it_.

Girls are always prettiest when they smile.

“You…look really nice too, Oikawa-kun.”

He takes her hand in his and her blush deepens as he leads her down the pathway and towards the stalls of food. “I’ve been wanting to come here a long time,” he says. “With you, of course.”

Kaede shifts her gaze from the bay to him. “Really?” Her eyes are full of wonder.

He smiles. “Really.”

He means it.

**_day 14_ **

Monday comes fast and Oikawa forces himself out of bed early to practice at the gym. He needs to stay in tip-top shape, which means some good old-fashioned weight training, cardio, and a _shower_ , of course, because there’s nothing worse than smelling like crap the whole day.

The sky’s barely lit when he steps outside -- he plugs in his ear buds as he fishes out his bicycle from the garage, leading it to the main road.

Once he has his bearings, he starts down the street, taking one step on the pedal before swinging the other over the other side, zipping through with the wind flying through like a whistle.

*

He’s halfway to school when he catches sight of the local bus groaning to a full stop on the hilltop.

From the backdoor you emerge, your hair pulled up in a bun, pink ear buds plugged into your ears. You’re carrying a cup of coffee, looking very tired and sleepy, and an unwitting smile blooms on his face when he sees that you haven’t noticed him at all.

He rides straight past you while you stop to sip your coffee. “Sawa-chan~!”

Naturally, you shriek at the sound of his voice, dropping your coffee to the floor with a heavy _splat_. Almost instantly, that look of exhaustion fades into one of irritation -- that is, until you meet his gaze and unplug your ear buds. “Oikawa-san? What’re you doing up so early?” You say, all but forgetting the spilt coffee on the ground beneath your feet.

“Practice, duh.” He sticks his tongue out, coming to a full stop. “And you?”

“Math…team,” you answer rather lamely. “Suda-sensei is a morning person and everyone else has after school clubs to attend.”

“Ah.” For whatever reason, he finds this tidbit of information far more entertaining than he’d like to admit and wonders why you're not part of any after school clubs. “Do you need a ride?”

You hesitate, looking around like you're trying to figure out if he has another bike hiding away somewhere, but when he points to the rack behind his seat, you immediately blanche. “I think I’ll walk,” you say, glancing down the road.

“You sure, Sawa-chan?”

Like fate, the wind whips through the air violently, forcing you to shut your eyes from the sting of blistering cold. “ _Fine_ ,” you say, inching forward and assessing the rack like it's some alien entity you’ve never seen before.

You relent, and take a seat on metal, letting your feet dangle off one side. “ _That’s cold!_ ” You yelp, tugging on the edge of Oikawa’s blazer for balance.

He laughs. “Hold on tight, Sawa-chan.”

“I—”

Before you get the chance to finish, he kicks off and you nearly lose your balance on the rack, your arms instinctively reaching out to wrap around his waist. You’re pressing your cheek so hard against his back _and this feels like a rollercoaster ride_ because you’re actually scared you might fall and go splat just like you're coffee and he’s going faster, faster, _faster_ —

“Slow down!” You cry out, shutting your eyes tight, but he doesn’t -- _of course he doesn’t --_ and he makes the most of the downhill momentum he has, feeling the warmth radiate from your skinny little arms.

*

“That wasn’t funny. We could’ve died.”

Oikawa puts his outdoor shoes into his locker and takes out a pair of sneakers reserved for the inside of the school walls only. “Sorry Sawa-chan,” he says and _means it_ because you look more frazzled than he expects and your hands are shaking like you’re actually scared.

He hears the closing of your locker door from the other side and peeks over to see you tying the shoes of your sneakers. “How was your date last night?” You sound tart, almost…annoyed, as you look up to meet his gaze. “You went out with Kaede-chan, right?”

He blinks. “How’d you know?”

“I heard her talking about it in one of my electives,” you answer noncommittally, standing up and taking out your scrunchie, hair spilling over your shoulders like an actual _freaking shampoo ad_. “Be nice to her, alright? I like her a lot.”

“Oh?” He grins. “I couldn't tell. From the sound of it, you seemed a little jealous.”

He immediately regrets what he says because you're glaring at him like he’s an absolute shitstain and he has to wonder _what about what he said sounded so bad_ , only to realize that he’s probably insinuating something that isn’t true at all. “My bad, Sawa-chan,” he says, quickly. “It was just a joke.”

You just offer him one last _look_ before turning away and departing down the halls of the school. He watches you from behind until you vanish around the bend.

He realizes he's still smiling like a dumbass.

*

Morning practice is unceremoniously lonely as Oikawa showers off the grime on his skin. _No one likes morning practice; you’re not special_ , he thinks, and figures it’d be worth forcing Iwa-chan to join him, not that Iwa-chan would be happy about it. _So maybe not such a great idea._

He dries off and slips on his school uniform, leaving the tie undone around his neck. He glances at the clock mounted on the wall and notes with a little smile that he has some time to kill before school starts.

*

He heads to his locker, picking out a box of chocolates from the depths and feasting on it while he meanders through the empty hallways.

There’s commotion from the classroom at the end of the hall and he saunters towards it, glancing through the glass window to see Suda-sensei lecturing at the front of the room filled with mostly boys— _and you, Sawa-chan_ , sitting right by the door. You’re leaning your head against the wall, looking very tired (and he wonders if he didn't make you spill your coffee, would you still look like that?), and scribbling in the open notebook on your desk.

He’s about to make a face to get your attention, but decides against it when he sees what exactly you’re scribbling on paper.

It’s a sketch of a boy, a boy one too familiar.

_Narrowed eyes, stern face, sharp jawline, thin lips_. It takes him a moment to recognize it, another moment to realize that this is no coincidence, _that this is probably some joke the gods must’ve thought was funny—_

Because the boy you’re sketching is Ushijima Wakatoshi, the captain of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will i stop playing with character generators & self inserts? probably never. this is sawari - she likes the color pink and doesn't smile very often.


	2. tell me this love is worth the fight

**_day 14_ **

Oikawa meets Kaede in the lunchroom, where she’s eating and laughing with her friends—her friends _and you_ , because you’re there too, chewing on bread from the convenience store while everyone else is eating lunch from their homemade bento boxes.

“Kaede-chan~ you look really cute today,” he sings, coming up behind her. The other girls at the table roll their eyes, _including you_ , because his shamelessness knows no bounds and there’s no limit to how _extra_ he can be, even on a damned Monday morning.

Kaede blushes and lowers her gaze to the two unopened bento boxes sitting before her. “You say that every day,” she replies softly, face getting only redder by the moment while all eyes sit on her. “I—I made us lunch today.”

“Really?” He says, feeling genuinely warm.

“ _Oh my god_ , can you two get a room.”

“ _Seriously_.”

You’re being awfully quiet, standing up from your seat with your sad little bag of bread. “We should give them some time alone,” you say, somewhat poised, like you’re an attendant on a flight trying to maintain a semblance of balance between two pissed off customers. When you smile at Kaede, she smiles back, and it takes Oikawa a moment to realize you actually meant what you said.

You really do like her.

*

Sure, Oikawa’s no stranger to trinkets and gifts, but a home-cooked meal means more to him than a card professing undying admiration could ever. So he eats the pork katsu that Kaede’s cooked and smiles when she tells him about her classes, the universities she’s looking into, and her favorite color (it’s purple).

“And…you?” She says, eyes darting to him hurriedly like she’s running short on time. “How’s volleyball?”

“Good.” He beams _and gives her all the attention in the world_ because she deserves it. “I have a scrim tomorrow with one of our rival schools and Iwa-chan hasn’t stopped complaining about us revealing too much of our strategy but -- y’know -- I kind of like it.”

“The challenge, you mean?” Kaede smiles back at him, and he can tell almost instantaneously that it’s feigned.

 _More like devising a new strategy_ , but he tucks away this tidbit of information and decides at last it’s not worth mentioning aloud. “Mm-hmm!” He takes another bite of katsu and goes on. “How long did it take to put this together, Kaede-chan?”

A moment of joy blooms in her eyes and Oikawa feels like he’s hit the bullseye on the target. “Not that long! I—I actually really enjoy cooking,” she tells him, blushing again, _and god she looks so cute when she’s blushing_. “It only took me an hour, I think.”

Hm, that’s longer than he expects. He glances over her shoulder, where he sees you laughing with your friends. You look happy, and for whatever reason, it surprises him more than he expects.

*

Oikawa arrives at the recreation center early, waiting outside with a volleyball wedged underneath his armpit.

Sneaking a look at his phone, he sees it’s _4:03pm_ and you’re actually late.

Well, three minutes late, but who's counting?

Ah, speak of the devil, there you are—running up the steps from the bus stop in your coat and your boots that click and clack across the concrete until you’re out of breath on the top step.

“ _Oiiiiii_ , Sawa-chan, you’re late.” He smiles at you as you catch your breath, keeled over like you’ve just run a marathon. "After you spent all that time yelling at me for not being punctual."

“I—sorry,” you say in between breaths. “I had an errand to run.” When you look up to assess your surroundings, a look of confusion forms on your face. “What is this place? What’re we doing here?”

Despite your questioning, you follow him into the building.

He’s done a bang-up job of ignoring you so far, flipping through the messages on his phone _like he has better places to be_. “I’m here to see my nephew today,” he states plainly.

“Your nephew?”

There are nearly a dozen or more parents sitting on the bleachers of the indoor gymnasium watching their kids play—basketball, soccer, handball, _even volleyball_ , though some of them aren’t tall enough to even reach the net. There’s so much laughter, so much commotion, so much shrieking that you have to take a moment of pause to assess the situation before stepping through behind him.

“Oi, _Takeru!_ ”

A kid with a buzzcut catches Oikawa’s gaze before jogging over. “You’re late, Tooru,” he says blandly, staring at him before shifting his gaze to _you_. “Are you his girlfriend?”

Oikawa blanches -- “ _of course not_ ,” he mutters -- and you give him a look of utter disgust before smiling at his nephew. “Actually, I’m his tutor,” you say, clenching the straps of your backpack. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Sawari.”

He just stares at Oikawa. “You’re failing your classes, Tooru?”

“I’m not _failing_. It’s _one_ class.”

“He failed a test,” you point out helpfully. “Turns out he’s not very good at math.”

“ _One test_ ,” Oikawa states emphatically. “Just one.”

You cup your hand over Takeru’s ear and whisper, “Your uncle consistently ranks last in math every week. He needs all the help he can get.” And at this, Takeru’s face breaks into a smile.

“Are you going to be playing with us afterwards, Sawari-san?”

 _“Sawari-san_?” Oikawa snaps, unable to hide his own irritation. “You call me _Tooru_ and you call her Sawari- _san_ , you disrespectful brat?”

"Sure," you tell him.

Takeru ignores him, holding out a hand for you to shake. “Make sure he doesn’t fail, Sawari-san.”

You shake it firmly. “Will do.”

Oikawa hangs his head low. “Why am I being ignored…”

*

It takes only an hour of studying for Oikawa Tooru to declare that he has completely and utterly had enough—that he absolutely cannot and will not digest any more practice sets or equations or lectures. With his eyes on the volleyball nets, he pouts, and laments the fact that his talent is being squandered over derivatives and numbers that he won’t ever use again in the future.

You sigh, understanding his plight, being weirdly sympathetic as you give him a soft pat on the shoulder, but also trying to get him back on track all the same as you usher the papers before him.

But he has his phone out, snapping photos of Takeru, who’s in the middle of practicing his serves.

“ _Come on_ ,” you say, tapping his papers with the butt end of your pencil. “We’re almost done.”

This time, he looks at _you_ , pouting like a five-year-old on the verge of a temper tantrum. He tosses his pencil aside and leaps over the stands of the bleacher, landing on the floor with a loud _thump_. “Five minutes,” he says, clasping his hands together, feigning prayer. “ _Please_ , Sawa-chan?”

You glance at your watch -- again, he notices it’s a nice watch; he may not necessarily have the best eye for these things, but it looks expensive. You note that you’ve made decent progress, so you shrug. “Fine, five minutes.” You close the textbook with a snap and place it gently onto the empty space next to you. “I’ll just wait—”

But he grabs your wrist and tugs you down the stands. “Alright, let’s go!”

You blush, never getting the chance to protest as he takes you downfield towards the volleyball courts, where Takeru is, where he’s beaming with the brightest smile you’ve seen since meeting him. _A genuine smile_ —he looks happy, and for a moment it confuses you because you think it makes you happy too.

*

Oikawa squares up Takeru’s shoulders at the half-court line. “Are you sure you don’t want to learn how to underhand serve? It’s a lot easier for someone your size.” And of course, he snickers when Takeru stares up at the net nearly three times his height.

Takeru’s answer is tart and curt, “Tooru, your overhand serve is the only thing cool about you.”

You nearly snort with laughter but Oikawa’s baffled scoff of disbelief beats you to the punch, “I’ll have you know I’m considered really cool in school. _Sawa-chan_ can attest, right?”

Takeru looks at you for confirmation and you sigh, unable to hide the dumb smile that’s threatening to bloom on your face. “Your uncle says the lamest things with a straight face—it’s actually kind of amazing.” At this, you turn to Oikawa, who’s gaping at you like you’ve seriously wounded his ego. “When do I get to see this infamous overhand jump serve by the way?”

He turns his nose. “Show up at one of our games and maybe you’ll get the pleasure.”

Slightly put off by his ridiculous showmanship, you pick up a volleyball from the racket by the wall and toss it to him—he catches it, with ease, with one hand, and it’s only then that you notice _wow, he has pretty big hands, huh_ , and when he sees you staring, a little smirk begins to form on his face like he’s figured out your secret. “Surprised already, Sawa-chan? _You’re so easy to impress_.”

Takeru just stares at him. “Sawari-san is right. You really do say the lamest things, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s smile vanishes in an instant, as he waves for his nephew to get out the way. Takeru obliges, taking the space next to you by the wall as Oikawa lines up in the far corner of the court. He glances over his shoulder at _you_ and smiles. “Don’t blink, Sawa-chan.”

He tosses the ball high into the air—and starts bolting, jumping high—

The sound is devastating as his palm makes contact, as the ball starts hurtling forward at breakneck speed—only to hit the top of the net and fall to the floor with a gentle _thump_.

You burst into laughter, holding your sides as you steady yourself against the wall. “ _Oh my god_ —talk about anticlimactic,” you muster out between breaths _because holy crap you’ll probably never get to see that look of utter mortification on his face again_ and because he’s staring at his hands like they’re two alien entities attached to his wrists he's never seen before.

“You shouldn’t have talked so much,” Takeru states wisely, taking another ball from the racket and tossing it in his uncle’s direction. “It’s bad luck, Tooru.”

“Just watch.”

Oikawa’s voice is stiller this time, and it’s enough to make your head turn. He doesn’t pause to look back at you this time, as he tosses the ball back in the air—as he makes a mad dash for it.

He sends it slinging through, right over the net, just hitting the service line on the other end with a loud _smack_ that makes the whole gym go silent.

Takeru’s eyes are full of wonder. “ _Awesome_.”

You, however, come up the court, bending over to meet his gaze with a smile. “I guess you’re pretty cool after all.” And Oikawa notes, of course, that there’s no look of wonder on your face—only expectation, _and of course_ , it’s probably because you’ve seen a serve exactly, if not better, than his own.

That damned Ushiwaka.

**_day 95_ **

“This is it,” you say, flicking on the lights of your apartment. “Sorry, it’s a little messy.”

Oikawa steps in and sees all sorts of photographs and paintings plastered on the walls, some abstract impressionist, some modern, and some pencil sketches. He doesn’t know much about art, but he knows they’re pleasing to the eye—probably pieces that belong to your dad. And if that hunch is right, he knows each one of these paintings are probably worth more than his two legs combined.

Otherwise your apartment is pretty standard: a kitchenette is one corner that looks untouched, a dining room fitted with a kotatsu and two mats, and a living area decked out with a small television, a few gaming consoles, and a black leather couch. It doesn’t look like a family apartment—it looks more like a bachelor pad, fitted for someone who lives alone.

Your bedroom is separated from the rest of the living area by a pair of sliding translucent doors.

As he makes his way towards the couch, he catches sight of your outline in the faded glass, in the midst of undressing and redressing. He can’t make out the details of your body, but he sees your skin exposed and his cheeks turn red as he turns away.

You slide open the doors, wearing a much more casual and suitable ensemble: a pair of pajama shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt that says _Shiratorizawa_ in bold red letters. He doesn’t tell you how cute you look -- somehow he has a hunch you already know -- instead, turning to look at the television set instead.

“Doesn’t it get lonely living by yourself?” He chimes, half in jest, but also half curious because it seems like there should be better things for a girl your age to do besides minding a household on your own.

The doors of your bedroom are ajar only the slightest – your bed is _huge_ , king-sized, probably, and there’s some floral arrangement sitting on the trunk before it: ikebana? Or some derivative. It seems like the kind of thing you would be interested in.

“Sometimes,” you answer, somewhat sadly as you plop down on the couch next to him. “Really, I just miss having a good home-cooked meal.”

He thinks about all the times he’s seen you bring convenience store bread instead of a bento and suddenly it’s beginning to make sense. “Did you live like this when you went to Shiratorizawa too?”

You stiffen instinctively at the sound of the school and he notices. _Of course he notices_. You have such a bad poker face he’d be blind not to notice.

“My dad travels a lot for work,” you say. “The art world moves fast, so he can't afford to stay around for long. But it’s not too bad. I mean…I don’t have a curfew, I don’t have to worry about staying out late, and…” Your voice trails off slowly, but surely, because you’re running on empty. _You’ve run out of benefits to talk about because the only thing you have going for you is the curfew_.

Oikawa leans in, reaching his hand out to touch your cheek, which startles you.

 _More than you care to admit_.

You blush and he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. “And your grandfather? What does he think of this?”

“Oh—he hates it,” you break into a smile. “At least, he hates it when he’s lucid enough to remember.”

**_day 15_ **

“You’re _sure_ you’re ready?”

“Yes.”

“Like, how sure?”

“Sawa-chan, you’re going to grow wrinkles if you worry too much,” Oikawa sings, flicking you on the forehead before turning around to make his way down the halls of the school. “Besides, we reviewed everything twice over yesterday. _Have some faith in yourself_ , alright?”

At this, your face flushes red and you lower your gaze to the floor, that fresh coat of wax looking pristine and untouched by wear. You follow behind him, never quite letting the distance between you two stretch, until you reach your lockers and go your separate ways, one aisle apart. “You were practicing this morning, right?” You say, softly. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard.”

Oikawa pauses, his fingers brushing against the trinkets sitting in his locker. “Oh? Are you…actually worried about me?”

A sigh. “You never take anything I say seriously.”

Maybe the flirtation’s a bit much, but no harm no foul, right? “That’s not true.” After gathering his books, he closes his locker and gives it tug to make sure it’s locked. “If you need to know, I’ve been trying to make up for lost time. We have a scrim today—with your alma mater, actually.” He waits for you to react, but doesn’t hear anything from your side of the aisle. “Shiratorizawa.”

There’s some shuffling, then the soft _zip_ as you remove your boots. Then the rustling of papers. _A breath_. Though he can’t gauge your physical reaction, he can tell you’re antsy. “It’s not my alma mater. I won’t be graduating from there,” you say, rather firmly, as if you’ve mulled over the words one too many times in your head before admitting them aloud. “Please don’t talk like I still go there.”

Footsteps round the corner and you manifest before him, holding a prepackaged roll cake. You hand it over with your hand outstretched.

He regards with one eyebrow raised. “A gift?”

“ _Breakfast_ ,” you tell him. “It’s good bread, alright? You need to stop eating chocolate all the time. It won’t do you any good if you’re serious about becoming an athlete and you’ll just crash from the sugar high, which is the last thing you need before your retake today.”

He cocks his head to the side, smiling. “It can’t be that—you actually care about me, Sawa-chan?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He takes your offering and you two make your way down the halls towards the math wing. He’s unwittingly walking you to your morning club, though it’s the least he can do after you’ve spent so much time tutoring him, _plus the bread_. He rips a sliver off and pops it in his mouth.

 _You’re right_ – it is good bread.

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, “So, Sawa-chan, why did you transfer?”

You turn your nose, “Long story.”

“We have time,” he says noncommittally. “Is it embarrassing? Is it because of a _boy_?”

“Why would you even assume that?” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “How would that even work? _Never mind_. Don’t even bother.” A sigh escapes your parted lips as you come to a full stop before the classroom door. “I just wanted to be closer to my grandfather, that’s all.”

“ _Boooooooring_.” He takes another bite of bread and is surprised when you don’t immediately take off into the classroom—the classroom, which has yet to fill out, with Suda-sensei standing at the front of the room, waiting with a mug of coffee in hand. “But…was there a boy in your last school?”

He thinks about Ushijima and that sketch you did, that sketch that’s probably still sitting in that notebook you’re holding. You consider it, still not meeting his gaze, _still not looking his way because you’re staring at your own notebook too_.

“Of course.”

Holy shit, he’s actually gotten somewhere with you.

Not willing to pass up the moment, he opens his mouth to ask _who_ —hoping, of course, that you’ll say Ushijima, which will open a whole new can of worms for him to dig into—but you beat him to the punch before he gets the chance. “We’re in high school, so it’s only natural,” you say, somewhat disdainfully.

He blinks, suddenly coming up empty. “What was he like?”

“Standard.” Still, you’re smiling, _really smiling_ , and when he looks to meet your gaze, he realizes you’re blushing. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Really book smart, but…kind of a dummy, too y'know. He was endearing…and he had a really good sense of—”

“—humor?” _He nearly snorts_.

“More like self-preservation,” you tell him.

 _Of course, self-preservation is exactly the thing Ushiwaka would be known for_. Oikawa regards this tidbit of information with a silent _hm_ before noting that look of utter infatuation on your face.

You turn towards the classroom, “By the way, good luck on your test today. I have faith in you, so pass with flying colors alright?”

Another pause, as he takes a moment to memorize that look on your face: you’re smiling at him, beaming, and you look genuinely happy. “You got it,” he says, and watches until you step into the classroom, take your seat, greet Suda-sensei, and open your notebook to the last used page.

That sketch of Ushijima’s face still sits pretty, but he doesn’t mind.

He doubts that _dummy_ has ever gotten to hear _those_ words from your mouth.

**_day 95_ **

“Do you mind if I stay over tonight, Sawa-chan?”

You pause, peering over at Oikawa from across the couch. Though your face is far from disgruntled or disgusted, he gets the sense that you’re apprehensive. You’re hugging your knees to your chest, lowering your gaze, and taking a breath as if to offer bad news before the storm.

“I don’t think Kaede-chan would be happy about that.”

“Why? We’re not together anymore, we haven't been in a while."

Still, you stare at him incredulously like he’s just said something obviously wrong. “Doesn’t matter—she’s still my friend.”

Oikawa ponders this for a moment, _still not quite understanding_ what you mean. “We’re friends too, aren’t we?” He smiles at you, propping one elbow against the back of the couch to lean on. “And friends let friends stay over, right?”

**_day 15_ **

Oikawa stares absentmindedly outside the window, tapping his pencil against the top of his desk while checking through the pages of his exam one more time.

Suda-sensei looks up from his newspaper every once in a while to check on his progress, but for the most part, he seems undeterred with what’s happening. Not surprising, considering the fact that the retake is during his lunch break.

After handing in his paper, Oikawa offers his thanks and gives Suda-sensei a smile before taking his leave.

*

He stifles a yawn, perusing aimlessly down the hallway until he reaches the lunchroom, where he finds Kaede sitting among her peers at her usual lunch table. _You’re not there_ _today_ , he notes, and he halfheartedly wonders where you could be—if you’ve eaten, _if you’re eating the same convenience store bread you always do_ —or if you’re busy with something more important.

“Kaede-chan~” He sings, slipping between her and her friend to take a seat on the bench. “Did ya miss me while I was gone?”

She looks at him with eyes narrowed; the table goes hush as soon as he sits down. “Oikawa-kun,” she says, stiffly, like she’s speaking to an utter stranger.

“How’s lunch?” He’s quick to turn the subject, not quite sensing the tension that’s formed between them. “I just finished Suda-sensei’s retake—”

“You told me to wait outside for you yesterday.”

Realization dawns on his face as the memory come shuttling back into his mind. _Damn it_ , he did tell her to wait, and not just that, he told her he would be on time. “Sorry about that—I made plans with Takeru and—”

“I don't know who that is, I waited an hour for you,” she says, and now it’s clear to him that the glares he’s getting from the others at the table are warranted. “You could’ve texted me.”

 _Yes, he could’ve_ —but he didn’t because he’d completely forgotten.

As he opens his mouth to apologize, the bell rings, signaling the end of their lunch period. He smiles at her. “Can we talk about this later, Kaede-chan?” But she’s already turning her nose at him. “Just please—wait a bit longer for me."

**_day 95_ **

“Fine.”

Oikawa blinks.

There’s no uncertainty on your face—no moment of hesitation, no signs of going back on your word as you stand up and stretch your arms out. “But you’re sleeping on the couch,” you tack on, turning away from him. “Did you bring a spare toothbrush?”

He looks at the bag he packed earlier in the day—and when you follow his gaze, it occurs to him that you must know he’s expected you to relent to his request all along. But you don’t address it and neither does he, which leaves a sliver of tension between you two. “You’re not upset, are you Sawa-chan?”

“Don’t.” You come to a halt, suddenly, and lower your gaze. “If you keep asking, I might just change my mind.”

At the sound of this, he clamps his mouth shut.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of some lettering on your shoulder as you lean over the table to grab your phone. “You have a tattoo?” He says, somewhat miffed because you’ve always come across as unbearably uptight and somewhat prudish.

You stuff your phone into the small pocket of your sleeping shorts. “Yeah.”

He reaches forward to touch you, but you smack his hand away, which elicits a whimper of pain from him. “ _I wanna see_ ,” he pleads with you, giving his best puppy dog eyes. “Please, Sawa-chan?”

Albeit unwillingly, you pull down the collar of your t-shirt to reveal a tattoo of an arrow, no bigger than a finger, pointing right. “It’s not that deep,” you tell him before he can even ask you what it means. “I was…in a weird place and thought getting a tattoo would be good for me. Turns out all it did was get me into trouble with my grandfather. A stupid decision, really.”

You unhook your thumb from your collar and your shirt snaps back into place, blocking the tattoo from view. “I don’t think it’s stupid,” says Oikawa haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Was your dad mad?"

“He’s an artist, so tattoos are par for the course,” you interject, turning your heel towards the bedroom.

Without thinking, he follows you from behind, trailing your steps to see you fiddling with the bottom drawers of your dressers. When you finally pry it open, you fish out a toothbrush and toss it to him—and he catches it, _of course_ , without blinking.

“I brought my own,” he says, grinning. “But I can keep this one here next time I stay over.”

You narrow your gaze.

Sure, he’s not being very subtle, but how long does he have to wait until you finally admit the truth to yourself? What’s with that damned honor of yours anyway? Yes, Kaede is your friend, but he’d only dated her for a month before breaking up _and she's already moved on with someone else_ , and so should you.

He takes a seat at the edge of your bed and beckons you over, but you don’t budge from your place by the dresser, just staring at him disappointedly like you’re waiting for him to change his mind.

“I would be a good boyfriend, y’know,” he tells you breezily; and then, meeting your gaze dead on, he says a little softly: “I would make you really happy too.”

Eventually, after staring at him for what feels like eternity, you move forward and take a seat next to him on the bed.

There’s a gap between you two, _and that gap feels like a mile-long ocean that he may never close_ , but you look at him, and smile. “I don’t know why you would even want to date someone like me,” you tell him, somewhat hesitantly. “I’m not a good person.”

He leans in closer, _and closer_ , “Neither am I.”

You don’t protest when your lips touch.

**_day 15_ **

Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a reassuring slap on the shoulder and Kindaichi a curt nod of acknowledgment before stepping onto the volleyball court, sneakers squeaking against freshly waxed floorboards.

 _There he is_ —Ushijima himself—standing across the field.

Somewhere in the stands, he hears the cry of his fans screaming his name. He waves at them, smiling, and among them, he sees you—but you’re looking elsewhere.

You’re looking at Ushijima, of course, with eyes filled with wonder.

*

Seijoh loses in spectacular fashion.

Without the quick-wittedness of Nekoma, the brute strength of Fukurodani, they’re nearly outmatched in every conceivable role—bandits fighting against the armored knights of Shiratorizawa. It's quick, it's decisive, and it's _disappointing._

Ushijima reaches underneath the net to shake his hand. “Good game.”

“ _You too_ ,” Oikawa seethes through gritted teeth.

*

The locker room is utterly silent.

Iwaizumi is the first to speak up -- “Oi, don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.”

Oikawa puts on a thousand-watt smile that has nearly everyone fooled. “Are you worried about me Iwa-chan~? You’re going to grow wrinkles like that.”

And it earns him a giant smack over the top of his head, which makes the rest of the team erupt into laughter—and suddenly the air’s not so foul with bitterness, regret, and disdain anymore. Suddenly, everyone is full of cheer, _talking_ , chattering about their plans to take on Shiratorizawa next time. _There’s a next time_ , and for a moment, even Oikawa believes it. _There’s a next time_ , he tells himself, _and next time he won’t let them down_.

*

The sky’s dark by the time they step outside; and it’s drizzling _and cold_ , yet his fans are waiting for him by the entrance of the school, collect with armfuls of gifts, trinkets, _and chocolates_. Never mind the fact that it’s late in the day, they’ve made the extra effort to stay and wait for him to shower and change—and really, he’s grateful because no one ever makes that kind of effort for him.

Among them is _you_ , and you’re chatting with them until you catch his gaze in the distance, a smile lighting up your face. You whisper a few words, step through the group, drizzle catching your hair damp and making you look somewhat like a fairy.

You break into a jog— _and run straight past him_.

Oikawa pauses mid-step and watches you approach the bus parked near the gates, where a group of Shiratorizawa players have congregated in waiting. You’re talking to them, emphatically, laughing with them like they’re old friends—and it takes him a moment to remember that they **_are_** technically your old friends. You were one of them not too long ago, and here they are now.

Reunited.

Ushijima listens to you while the others bid you farewell and board the bus—and you take the moment to hand him a piece of paper, which makes him blush.

 _A blush for god’s sake_ , Oikawa thinks bitterly, knowing that that piece of paper is probably the sketch you made of him the other day.

Somewhat deflated by the sight of you allying with the enemy, Oikawa decides to move on and greet his fans, thanking them for waiting in the rain. He takes each one of their tokens of appreciation and poses for pictures with them, all while keeping an eye on you in the distance.

Ushijima gives you a pat on the head and you’re beaming at him, _smiling so prettily_ , and it almost confuses Oikawa into rooting for you. He says something that makes you laugh aloud, but that smile of yours is beginning to fade—and it’s fading fast.

 _‘Ushiwaka with a sense of humor?’_ Oikawa shudders. _‘No way_.’

He boards the bus, not without sparing you a token of thanks.

Still, Oikawa can recognize that look on your face.

Disappointment.

You make your way over, darting towards him while unraveling a piece of paper from your backpack. “Ta-da~” You sing. “Your test grade came back. Suda-sensei asked me to bring you the good news as soon as possible.”

In the top right corner, a **_97_** in bold red lettering.

“Thanks, Sawa-chan.”

Not too shabby, all things considered.

Iwaizumi yawns, making his way down the steps to meet you at the entrance. “Nice job, shithead. You actually did it.”

Matsukawa cocks his head to the side, studying the grade with narrowed eyes. “I had no clue you had it in you.”

“This is rather unexpected,” Watari laughs anxiously.

“ _Whoa—_ 97? What a score.” Kindaichi tugs on the strap of his bag as he makes his way over to join the crowd. “Or miracle.”

“Oi. Did everyone think I was going to fail again?” Oikawa snaps irritatedly, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes.” A uniform answer from nearly every person on the team.

Oikawa crumples the paper and stuffs it into his athletic bag.

At this point, you finally muster the courage to speak up—“I knew you were going to pass,” you interject firmly, completely unabashed, like you’ve been holding these words inside yourself all day. “I had faith in you—and you should have faith in yourself too.”

The rest of the squad goes silent.

“Wow.” Iwaizumi is the first to speak up, snorting. “You actually found someone who says lamer shit than _you_.”

You and Oikawa, red-faced, glance at each other before turning away.

**_day 95_ **

It’s moving fast—he’s kissing you deep, his tongue swirling in your mouth, _teasing you_ —and for what it’s worth, you’re kissing him back, no resolve left in your body.

 _You want to feel something so bad_ and now it’s happening as your fingers wind up in his hair, as he pushes you back against the mattress of your bed, as his hand palms your breast, giving you a gentle squeeze that elicits the tiniest moans from your mouth.

Then it stops.

Without any indication things are going wrong, he stops and looks at you, a line of saliva connecting your lips. He’s breathing heavy, his eyes are half-lidded, and a smile breaks on his face.

You lean up and kiss him again, and he’s slower this time—tasting every part of you, because you taste _sweet_ , like a little bundle of spirit and determination he’d never truly taken his eyes off. You’re pulling him closer, _tugging him by the hem of his shirt_.

This time, you’re the one who pauses, pulling away, still red in the face from the excitement of venturing into new territory.

But the realization begins to dawn—slowly, but surely, and that smile on your face begins to vanish. “Friends…kiss sometimes…right?”

Oikawa brushes a lock of hair away from your face and takes a look at you, _how flustered you look_ , and how shameless your fingers are, still toying with the hem of his shirt. It excites him, of course: no one else gets to see you this way, _no one else but him_.

"I lied." He lowers himself against you and presses a kiss to your cheek before lowering his lips to your neck. “I don’t want to be just friends.”

Softly, he begins to nip at the skin, and you don’t stop him, your fingers winding through his hair as he sucks away gently.

 _This is going to leave a mark_ , he thinks, his tongue lathering the soft part of your neck. _Good_.

**_day 16_ **

Morning comes.

Like clockwork, you exit the back of the bus and Oikawa’s sitting there, waiting for you on his bike.

Your earbuds are plugged away, you’re wearing a new scarf today that’s covering half your face, and you have a canister of coffee in hand with a handle that you can easily snake your fingers through. You meet his gaze and smile. “Did you wait long?”

“Nope.” Oikawa yawns, patting the back of his bike. “Come on, let’s go.”

You glance at the empty rack with a look of absolute _irritation_ before hopping on in one go. “ _Holy—that’s cold!”_ You shriek, holding your coffee close to your chest.

“You say that every time, Sawa-chan."

You find a precarious balance, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other holding onto your coffee like it’s the last bastion of liquid life left on this foul earth.

Without pause, he cuts to the chase: “So you and Ushiwaka—”

You blink. “Ushiwaka?”

“Ushijima,” Oikawa corrects himself, coming to a stop at the light, only two blocks away from school. “I saw you two the other day—after our scrims. What were you talking about?”

“Oh.” You lower your gaze, suddenly, as the wind whips through. “I, um…” A laugh, sheepish and shy, comes to escape your lips. “I confessed to him and got rejected again.”

_Wait, what?_

It takes Oikawa a moment to fully digest the fact that this means you confessed to him, and another moment to realize that this is the _second_ time you’ve confessed to him, which must mean you were rejected the first time too. “He’s an idiot so I’m not surprised,” the words escape him faster than he can think. “Don’t worry about it, Sawa-chan. You’re a total catch.”

But you don’t answer—and you don’t look even the slightest bit relieved. You just shake your head and smile, strained and tired.

“It’s fine…I, um…I’m not good enough for him, but—y’know.” You beam this time, looking out into the distance at the sunrise. “One day I will be.”


	3. went off like sirens, just cryin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love oikawa so much, my ideal mans...

**day 34**

**kaede** : i think we should break up

“And then she broke up with me!” Oikawa groans, shoving the screen of his phone in front of Takeru’s face, urging him to see the listless text he’s been mulling over for two days. “She wouldn’t even tell me what I did wrong!”

Takeru puckers his lips, pulling the straw of his juice box out of his mouth before humming up a response. His uncle, dim-witted and petty, kicks away a nearby volleyball, which bounces against the north wall of the gym before settling back right where it started.

“Why don’t you just date Sawari-san?”

Oikawa pauses, suddenly, as if a jolt of electricity has shot down his spine and rendered him speechless. He stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “It’s not that simple,” he states, plainly. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.” He doesn’t mention she’s already interested in someone else, _someone she’s probably adored for a long time_ , or the fact that _that_ someone is Ushijima Wakatoshi, his rival in nearly ever facet.

“That’s too bad.” Takeru sips his juice box, looking very much indifferent at the plight that's befallen his pathetic uncle. “She seems nice.”

“She is—” Oikawa stops himself short, mulling it over for a moment. Though she’d been impatient with him at best during their studies together, she _did_ achieve what she set out to do, which was to help him pass calculus with flying colors. “Hm. I guess she _is_ nice.”

They sit in silence for some time before Takeru speaks up first. “Tooru?”

“Hm?”

“Didn’t you say you had something to do today?”

Oikawa jolts up. _Crap_. He’s late.

*

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sings, grinning wide as he makes his way down the halls of the gymnasium to greet his squad, and, of course, the visiting team across the bend from Tokyo. “I got caught up with something.”

“You’re the one who chose this timeslot, idiot.”

“My bad~”

From the distance, Oikawa catches sight of Coach Irihata discussing something with Coach Nekomata by the doorway. What follows is a cache of volleyball players, dressed in red and black, filtering through, bustling with fervor. He recognizes some of them from film -- that one with the rooster hair is as consistent of a receiver and blocker as they come; that muted shorty with the bad dye-job is the brains of the operation; and…well, the others are more or less pieces of the puzzle he’ll get a handle on by the time they start their scrim set.

“Oikawa,” Coach Irihata smiles, motioning to rooster-head. “This is Kuroo. Captain of Nekoma.”

“Pleased to meet you captain.” Oikawa smiles, cordially, reaching a hand out. _‘Nice hair_.’

“Pleasure is mine.” Kuroo meets him halfway, shaking his hand, mirroring that wry smile. “Gets pretty chilly here in Miyagi, doesn’t it?”

 _‘And only getting colder.’_ “It does. I hope you dressed for the cold.”

*

Before their scrims are set to begin, Oikawa steps outside for a breath, to go for a run to get warmed up. The sun’s just beginning to dip and there are few students meandering outside, save for his loyal group of fans waiting in the stands.

“You’re _still_ here? Don’t you have a social life?”

Flinching at the voice, Oikawa turns around to see _you_ standing with your arms crossed over your chest, looking very smug.

“Sawa-chan! You gave me a fright,” he snaps, and when the realization dawns that you’re in the middle of insulting him, he goes on. “For the record, we have practice with a visiting team. _Scrims_. You should stop by and watch if you get the chance. I’ll even wave if I see you in the stands.”

You’ve changed out of your school uniform, wearing a denim jacket—casual and cool, but somewhat light given the weather, _freezing_. It’s winter, after all. “ _God_ , you talk like my grandpa. Like an old person _._ ” You stare at him in disbelief, all the while trying to stifle a laugh of utter mockery. “And that’s…kind of you for the offer, but I’m just here to pick up a textbook. It’s _freezing_ , so good luck with—"

“Oi! Captain!”

Kuroo manifests from the entrance of the gymnasium wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Where do you keep your extra kneepads?” But he pauses just as fast, meeting your gaze and studying the atmosphere before turning to Oikawa again. “Oh? Am I interrupting something?”

“ _Nope—_ nothing!” You interject loudly, blushing as you look his way. “You are interrupting absolutely _nothing_. Nothing. Nothing at all. _Nothing!_ ”

Oikawa lowers his gaze at you, “That’s a whole lot of nothings, Sawa-chan,” he states, blandly.

You smile like a dumbass, brushing your hair behind your ear and nudging him gently in the ribs. “Oi, introduce me.”

Oikawa obliges, not without putting on that thousand-watt smile that just _screams trouble_. “Kuroo Tetsurou, meet Sawari Setsuna—she likes to be called Sawa-chan,” he calls out.

You shoot Oikawa a smile like _I’m gonna kill you bastard_ before turning back to Kuroo. “Sawari is fine! Nice to meet you.” And you bow, formally, because _of course you do;_ that's just the kind of thing you _would_ do.

Somewhat miffed, Kuroo reciprocates and bows back. “Nice to meet you too, Sawari-san.” His gaze lingers on you only a moment longer before he turns back towards the gym.

“ _Yeah_ , I think I’ll stop by to check out your scrims later,” you beam at Oikawa.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, somewhat incredulous at your lack of subtlety. “Hm? I thought you said you weren’t interested.”

“See you!” You start bolting down the pathway towards the gymnasium, and he catches a whiff of your scent as you depart—you smell like flowers, _like your shampoo_ , and it’s artificially sweet and floral, nothing more than one-breath’s worth, and by the time it’s gone, he’s thinking about how he actually kind of likes it.

*

You’re staring at Kuroo from the stands and it’s painfully obvious but Oikawa is a _good friend_ , so he doesn’t sell you out (even though he totally can) when you descend the stairs to greet the rooster-haired bastard. He just waits, patiently, until you’re done, until you dismiss yourself because it’s getting late, until you turn your heel towards the gym doors with a little skip _because you’re actually excited_.

Iwaizumi arches a brow, “Looks like _someone_ has a crush on captain.” He looks at Oikawa, as if assessing his worth. “Here I thought you probably had her wrapped around your little finger after all that tutoring."

Watari, in the midst of cleaning up the court with the rest of the underclassman, is the first to perk up his head at the sound of those words. “Actually, Sawari-san tutors a lot of kids. Suda-sensei lets her make up credits for it.”

Oikawa frowns despite himself because that means your first chance encounter, which he thought was serendipitous, probably wasn't so special after all. “Why would someone like her even need to make up credits,” he mutters, walking towards the door where you’ve left.

Iwaizumi tosses a volleyball towards Oikawa's head, just missing him short as he rounds the corner of the net.

“Oi! You gonna help clean up or what?”

He doesn’t turn back. “In a minute, Iwa-chan!”

*

He catches you on the way out, and you’re still wearing that much-too-thin denim jacket, looking _totally unprepared_ for winter in Miyagi. “Yoo-hoo, Sawa-chan!” He calls, and you turn to meet his gaze, trying hard not to make your displeasure known when you see he has that shit-eating grin on.

He frowns when he sees you bolting towards the main road -- _you start running_ , so he starts running too, and it doesn’t take him much time to catch up because _Oikawa the great is an athlete first and foremost_ and you’re the one wearing leather boots in snow.

“Why are you running? I wanted to ask you something!”

You stop, and keel over to catch your breath because you’re painfully out of shape and _winded_. “Because every time you ask me something I end up wasting time when I have things to do and people to see.”

“Like what? Like _who_?”

“Never mind,” you mutter, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, all aversions to snapping at him apparently gone and forgotten by the wayside. “What did you want to ask?”

“Y’know—if you wanted to ask for Kuroo’s number you could’ve just asked me,” he says, puffing out his chest. “I’m an excellent wingman, don’t you know?”

You blush— _you actually blush_ , which means he must’ve hit the nail on the head. So he goes on, knowing he’s on the right track and he’s close to hitting the _right target_. “And here I thought after all that talk Ushiwaka was the only one for you. _Guess you do have eyes, huh_ Sawa-chan.”

You shiver, rubbing your arms with your hands. “Oh my god—that’s all you had to say?” Now you’re smiling, _actually smiling_ and he notes, somewhat disdainfully, that you’re quite pretty when you smile. “You really are ridiculous.” You start backing away, still rubbing your arms as you catch sight of the bus stop in the distance. “You should stop focusing on my love life and start focusing on your grades, Oikawa-san. You probably wouldn’t need a tutor then.”

He exhales, a puff of frost breath escaping his lips. He’s about to tell you he doesn’t mind having a tutor but stops himself short when you wave at him goodbye. _He probably should’ve asked you if you needed a lift to the bus stop_ , but it’s too late and you’re too far gone, and he feels his stomach flip at the realization that it’s alright because he’ll see you tomorrow morning anyway.

**day 101**

“You really don’t have to do this.”

Oikawa beams, ushering you through the automatic doors of the complex. “I want to,” he tells you, _and he means it_ because you look terrified, like you’re about to encounter a ghost, which probably isn’t too far off from the truth. “Sawa-chan, don’t worry so much. _Old people love me_.”

“Trust me, my grandpa doesn’t love _anyone_ outside our blood."

“That’ll change when he meets me!”

You sigh and sign in at the front entrance, where you greet the nurses who know you by name and the grandmas playing with puzzles in the communal living space. There’s a cooking program droning on in the background and Oikawa pushes up his glasses to squint at the screen, small and outdated, something weirdly befitting of a nursing home.

Quite frankly, he wasn’t aware a place like this even existed in Miyagi and considering how far it sits from Torono Town, he can’t say he’s too surprised. It’s tucked away in the suburbs, surrounded by thicket and greens, where everything is pasture and farmland.

“It’s a good day for him,” says a passing nurse in the hallway you recognize. “Lucid and clear.” Then she looks at Oikawa, eyeing him up and down, sizing him up like she’s assessing a prize cow at the local auction. “Boyfriend?”

“A good friend,” you smile; and he’s about to make a snippy response like _are you sure about that Sawa-_ chan but you look sad and you look like you mean it—and it breaks him more than he expects. So he goes along with it, beaming at the nurse, who beams back at him before you move along your way down the hall.

At least half the rooms are empty, but still worn from common living wears and tears. It’s an alarming sight, he thinks, because it probably means many of the occupants have died here -- many of them have probably died alone. He catches you staring at one of the rooms longer than you probably intend to. “Sorry,” you mutter, feigning a smile, but you don’t look like you know why you’re apologizing so he puts a hand on your shoulder, gives it a squeeze of reassurance, and guides you towards your grandfather’s room at the end.

You walk in first and there he is -- your grandfather -- an old man with a head full of snow white hair, like a wizard from a fantasy MMO. And quite like a wizard from an MMO, he’s reading a book about plants, squinting over his half-moon glasses at _you_ , smiling when he recognizes who you are. “ _Setsuna_ —you look like you’ve grown taller,” he says, closing the book with a snap and leaving it on the top of his nightstand.

You walk up and give him a kiss to the temple, telling him _there’s no way, you stopped growing in middle school_ , and mentioning something about the book he’s reading that Oikawa can’t make out because he’s focused on the line of paintings and sketches on the counter of the dresser. He thinks it must be from your father, but upon closer inspection, he notices your signed name in the corner of each piece.

“This is Oikawa-san.” You motion to him, even though he’s still in the middle of studying your work with a dumb look on his face. “He’s a friend from school, the one I told you about, remember?”

He beams, pushing up his glasses. “Nice to meet you, grandpa.”

All at once, your grandpa’s smile vanishes. “ _Hm_.”

 _Hm?_ What the hell does that mean?

“He seems like your usual type.”

“Grandpa,” you snap without warning, narrowing your gaze. “Please.”

“Her type?” Oikawa immediately removes his gaze from the paintings. “So Sawa-chan has an elusive type? _Do tell_ , grandpa.”

“ _Oikawa_ —”

Still, the old man’s not even looking him in the eye, instead, resting his gaze on you, like you’re supposed to be the buffer between them. “He anything like your old friends from school?”

_Your old friends?_

Your smile is sad, almost—unrecognizably sad. “No, grandpa. He’s one of the good ones.” Oikawa doesn’t know why you’re so deflated, as if every molecule of energy inside you has vanished into thin air, only to leave this sad shell of a girl before him, but _he hates_ seeing you like this, so he reaches out to touch your shoulder, only for you to _give him a look like **don’t you dare**_ before he can even make contact.

Your grandpa’s reaction isn’t visceral, just expectant, as he sizes Oikawa up with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he states.

A pause comes as you look on helplessly at your stubborn grandpa.

“C’mon—it’s like a funeral in here.” _Eh, maybe that’s the wrong choice of words_ , but Oikawa beams, turning around and taking a seat on the edge of the bed like he’s in his own home. “Let’s get back to important matters at hand. _Grandpa_ , you said Sawa-chan has a type, right? Tell me more about it.”

“I _don’t_ have a type,” you sigh, knowing it’s pointless to protest anyway.

Your grandpa stares at you with half-lidded eyes, “You do. It’s the stupid type.”

Oikawa has to stifle his own laughter, but a grunt manages to eke its way through anyway.

You shoot him a glare and he shifts his gaze to _the paintings on the cabinet_ , wondering how someone like you, so uptight and firm, can create something so whimsical and free.

“What’re you laughing about?” Grandpa snorts. “You're part of the club, stupid."

*

“I’ll be back tomorrow, grandpa.” You lean over and press yet another kiss onto his temple. “Rest up.”

“That’s all they have me do in this place,” he replies, sullenly, grabbing his book on plants from the nightstand. “When you get the chance, bring me another sketch, Setsuna. It’s been a while since you’ve drawn something.” And he lowers his voice just a bit more. “And a pack of cigarettes too.”

You laugh. “Sure, grandpa.”

Oikawa beams. “I’ll be back tomorrow too.”

Grandpa frowns. “Of course, bring the dunce.”

You let your gaze linger on Oikawa, whose smile fades into a scowl as he starts shuffling towards the paintings. “Be nice, grandpa,” you chide, making your way towards the door first. “I’ll sign us out,” you tell Oikawa on your way. “Will you grab my bag for me?"

“Sure, Sawa-chan.” Oikawa rounds the bed to pick up your bag on the floor, carelessly discarded while grandpa clears his throat loudly.

“Something wrong? Should I call a nurse?”

“No, don’t bother the nurse. Just come here, dunce.”

Albeit unwillingly, Oikawa obeys and move towards his bedside, suddenly feeling very anxious without you around to buffer the tension.

Grandpa looks at him, _really looks at him_ , and takes a breath. “I don’t know what your intentions are with Setsuna, but I can tell you right now she’s in a good place. She’s not here just to get bogged down and distracted by some half-wit. _Getting out of Shiratorizawa was good for her_.” But he’s not done, not even close, as he snaps his book open to where he last left off. “She’s going to attend a prestigious university, marry a good man who will treat her well, and live a life she deserves. Understand?”

Not to be outdone by the hurl of underhanded insults, Oikawa snaps, “What makes you think I’m not a good man?”

Grandpa doesn’t even bother looking up to meet his gaze. “ _Because I know about you_ —I’ve seen you on the television. The star of Miyagi. _Just like Ushijima, eh_? You may entertain my granddaughter for now, but she’ll never marry someone like you. _Never_.”

A pause. “Because she's too good for you.”

For the first time ever, Oikawa doesn’t know what to say.

He had yet to even consider the idea of marrying you (isn’t that a long way off into the future?), but now that that option is off the table, he’s _pissed_ it’s not available anymore—he’s angry. Grandpa’s words aren’t a warning he wants to hear, but it resonates with him—so much so that he’s gripping the straps of your backpack so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Still, he finds the strength to truly digest what he means, _to see where he’s coming from,_ and it all comes toppling down because when it's all said and done, he can see it for what it's worth.

“I know,” Oikawa whispers, quietly, and it’s true— _you are too good for him_.

With a bow and a goodbye for good measure, he heads towards the door.

But he stops by the frame, one knuckle resting on the doorknob before he can leave. “But I won’t give up,” he says, turning over his shoulder to meet grandpa’s gaze stiffly. “You’ll see. One day I’ll become the man you think she deserves.”

*

“Hey, you’re being really quiet. It’s _weird_. Like, seriously weird.”

Oikawa puts on a smile and runs a hand through his hair, meeting your gaze as you follow him down the main road towards your apartment complex. “It’s really cute when you worry about me, Sawa-chan.”

Still, you’re not convinced, breaking into a light jog to catch up with him. “What’s wrong?”

 _She’s too good for you_. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

You frown, tugging the hem of his blazer to stop him from quickening his pace. “You weren’t like this before we visited grandpa.”

He hates how intuitive you are. Sometimes, he wishes you didn’t try so hard to pry past the beleaguered smiles and shoddy attempts at changing the subject.

He pulls ahead, past your grip, and ambles down the road like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “Like I said, it’s nothing,” he states plainly, much less convincing this time around.

“ _Tooru_.”

You take his hand, stopping him in place, staring at him, not even an ounce of humor withered away in that gaze of yours. “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” you plead, and you look desperate, _like if he doesn’t tell you right now you might unravel at any moment_. " _Please_."

He feels your hand, how soft and small it is in his, and gives it a squeeze.

“He said I wasn’t good enough for you.” It takes a considerable amount of effort to muster out the words, because frankly, no one has ever said that to him before. “That you’d never marry someone like me.”

You don’t look surprised as you lower your eyes to where your fingers are linked. “Grandpa doesn’t think anyone is good enough for me,” you tell him, softly, and though it’s not the answer he wants to hear, it’s an answer that he finds comfort in.

There’s still a long walk towards your apartment, so he gives your hand a tug. “Come on, Sawa-chan. Let’s go. It’s cold out here,” he says. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

But you won’t budge, even as a pick-up truck rolls lazily by past you, its engine groaning loud.

“You know why I left Shiratorizawa?” Suddenly your cheeks turning bright red as you turn your face away from the crop of dust that the truck has kicked up. "Did I ever tell you?"

 _Family stuff, your grandfather_. But Oikawa doesn’t answer because you’re taking a breath and he knows almost immediately there must be more to the story.

“I was kicked out,” you admit, a wry little smile cracking open on your lips. “I fell in with the wrong crowd, did some things I’m not proud of, and got expelled.”

When you look up to meet his gaze, he realizes you’re crying. “Bonus point? I confessed to Ushijima-kun and got rejected the same day. He said I wasn’t serious enough, which was probably true at the time."

Then slowly, you lean in, wrapping two arms around his torso and pressing your cheek gently against the fabric of his uniform. “I don’t care what other people say—I’ve made up my mind about you, alright?” You don’t look at him, instead, coiling your tiny, ineffectual little arms tighter until he feels how warm you are against him. “So let’s date for real.”

Oikawa blinks.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, you pull back only slightly to meet his gaze, your eyes still tear-stained and red. “Did you hear what I said? Or are you just going to leave me hanging?”

He loses himself in the moment—he’s thinking about what it’d be like to walk through the hallways holding hands with you, _with everyone watching_. He’s thinking about what it’d be like to offer you his jacket, to let you wear it in class so the others know you’re together. _He’s thinking about what it’d be like to kiss you_ —and sure, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve kissed, but it’d be an official kiss.

A real kiss.

Boyfriend and girlfriend, huh. Doesn’t sound too bad.

You furrow your brows, “ _Hey_ —are you gonna ignore me ‘cause—"

Because you’d be _his_.

He cups your face, startling you.

“Oikawa—"

He pulls you in and presses his lips against yours, chastely, _gently_ , and god he loves the smell of you, the silkiness of your hair between his fingertips, and how soft and delicate you feel in his grasp. When he pulls back, he presses another kiss to your forehead and sees the tears have escaped you—that you’re crying, _smiling_ , and blushing so red he could burst at the very sight of you.

“Let’s date,” he says, kissing a tear from your cheek. “For real.”

**day 35**

Practice is fleeting and the more Oikawa works up a sweat the more he feels a strain in his kneecap.

“Don’t push yourself,” Iwaizumi tells him, _because of course he’s going to push himself_ \-- he’s the captain after all -- and when he tells his better half not to worry, he gets an answer that’s biting and curt in response. “Your cheap lies may work on the others, but they won’t work on me, dipshit.”

So Oikawa takes a breather to stretch by the stands, and this is when things start boiling to the surface. Because things _always_ boil to a surface when he’s not doing anything—when his hands are too free, when he doesn’t have something else to occupy his mind. Something like volleyball, something like bickering, or something like -- _well,_ anything, really.

 _He’s single now and lonely_ , and the freshness of his breakup with Kaede hasn’t escaped him for a minute. Sure, they’d only dated for a few weeks, but she was _cute_ and maybe more importantly _she was available for him._

Now that door is closed. For good, maybe.

 _Why don’t you just date Sawari-san_?

Hm.

Maybe his nephew is onto something.

A volleyball comes hurtling through the air and bounces off the wall with a smack— _a smack so loud_ it shakes him out of his thoughts.

From a distance, Watari apologizes and Oikawa brushes it off like it’s nothing.

Hm.

**day 40**

Oikawa catches you in the morning on your bus route and your eyes light up from the glass when you catch sight of him. _Coffee mug in hand_ you bolt down the steps, out the back door, hopping on the rack behind his bike seat, more chipper than usual. “Good morning,” you greet him, kicking your legs gently as he takes off down the hill.

“Mornin’ Sawa-chan,” he yawns, his gaze resting on your winter jacket—your trench coat, even though it’s below freezing today. “Aren’t you cold?”

You consider it. “All my winter jackets are at my old apartment,” you mumble, taking a sip of your coffee. “I should probably go pick them up.” _But you don’t have a car, and he’s almost certain you don’t have a bike lying around_. He decides not to press it because it involves Shiratorizawa and he knows the last thing you want to talk about is Shiratorizawa.

Biting wind chills his cheeks as he comes down the main road—you have one arm wrapped on his waist, but the feeling and touch is only platonic, a remarkable feat given how close you are. “So, Sawa-chan—have you started looking into universities?”

“Mm.” You smile, holding your coffee steady as you meet a bump in the road you have memorized on the route. “I have. What about you?”

 _Of course he has_ —sports scholarships are hard to come by and scouts are looking for recruits early into their careers. “Me too,” he says. “But, also, other options.” He decides to leave it at that.

“What kind of other options?”

He shrugs. “Meh, you wouldn’t be interested." He turns around the bend in the road, the roof of their school cropping up in the sky. "So what kind of universities are you—”

“No, I want to know,” you tell him, perking up from behind. “What other options are you looking into?”

He pauses, coming to a full stop at the entrance to park his bike.

You leap off the rack, still watching him, _waiting for an answer_ , and after a bit of mulling, he decides to humor you. “I’m thinking about taking a few years off to pursue volleyball in South America.”

You blink.

 _Oh, here we go_.

He’s already gotten lectured by his mom, _his sister_ , even his nephew. ' _Is this really something you need to do?_ ' They'd tell him.

And he thinks, of course, someone like you will follow right in line. In fact, he’s already regretting telling you about this— _and he’s already starting to get annoyed because you’d been so adamant about asking him._

“Wow.” You smile at him. “That’s admirable.”

Now it’s his turn to blink.

“R…really?”

You nod excitedly, your eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Chasing your dreams? I mean…that takes a lot of guts. And courage.”

This is the last thing he expects and the shock of it alone renders him somewhat speechless. "I--you think I'm brave, Sawa-chan?"

You consider it a moment before nodding "Yeah, I guess I do."

He follows you from behind as you make your way towards the doors of the entrance—and he gets a whiff of your shampoo, flowery and light. “You must be really good if you want to move halfway across the world to compete,” you go on, holding the door for him as he filters through right after you.

Suddenly, you whip around, hugging your coffee tightly to your chest as the warmth of the interior punches through the air. “If you show up at the Olympics—you have to sign me something. _Seriously_. I could probably make a killing off your autograph.”

“Sawa-chan…" He's touched. Seriously, seriously touched. "I can sign you whatever you’d like.”

"Awesome."

Still, he’s somewhat miffed by your response.

 _He didn’t have to explain himself_. No lengthy exposition about why he’s doing this, _his longterm plan_ , and what he’s going to do afterwards.

You just…you _get it_.

You get _him_.

As you turn towards the hallway where your locker sits, he grabs you by the wrist, stopping you mid-step.

“Hm?” You look at him. “What is it?”

“Sawa-chan,” he meets your gaze firmly. “Let’s date.”

You blink, your smile fading _fast_ into a glower. “Didn’t you _just_ break up with Kaede-chan?”

Huh, so it’s not outright rejection. _You're thinking about Kaede._ You didn't mention your feelings, which must mean...

He beams at you. “We didn’t date for that long,” he says. “But come on, what do you say? Let’s go out.”

Still, that look on your face turns into something of disgust and he knows almost instinctively he has said _the wrong thing_. “No,” you tell him, tugging out of his grasp. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? Just because I said something nice doesn’t mean I want to be your girlfriend. You don’t even know me.”

“So what? I can get to know you. That’s the point of dating, Sawa-chan.”

It takes you a moment to digest what he says—and when you do, _you scoff_ , turning your nose before heading towards your locker. “You really are ridiculous,” you utter—and he catches the irritation on your face because he follows you down the hall. You’re not surprised because you’re not even close to being done reprimanding him. “You need to seriously take a break from dating. No one wants to be your rebound.”

He frowns, “You wouldn’t be my rebound. I’m serious about this. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t serious.”

You rip open your locker, unzipping your boots and tossing them in with a flop before collecting your indoor shoes, a few textbooks, and your pencil case. You look up to meet his gaze, looking like you’re completely over this conversation. “If you’re so serious, then why don’t you take a few months off and get to know me before you ask me out,” you state plainly. “Maybe you’ll change your mind by then.” When you get your shoes on, you stand up and turn your heel, your hair flapping gently over your shoulders. “Who knows? You might cool off and be dating someone else."

He frowns, following your steps down the hall, but keeping a distance as not to scare you off. “Sawa-chan—you always complain about me not taking you seriously, but _you’re_ the one who’s not taking me seriously.”

A scoff. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Fine!” He stops, _because he has places to be besides following you around like a sad little puppy_. “If I get you to like me in a month, then we date. Deal?”

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “This isn’t a movie, _idiot --_ you can’t just…forget it. _Forget it_. It’s not even worth my breath,” you say, just short of groaning out loud and making your displeasure known to the rest of the empty school. “I can list probably a thousand reasons why we can’t date but let me put it in terms you’ll actually understand: _Kaede is my friend_ and you broke her heart. It’d be like if I started dating one of your teammates after breaking up with _you_."

 _Ugh_ , of course. Kaede _would_ come and bite him in the ass somehow. And the image of you dating Iwaizumi or Watari or Kindaichi... _ugh_. Alright, _fine_. Maybe it is a little weird.

Oikawa stops, scratching his head and wondering why _he was suddenly getting a damned migraine from this conversation_. “Fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest, knowing that your bike rides in the morning were probably going to get infinitely more awkward from now on. “You win, Sawa-chan. I won’t ask anymore.”

Finally, a spark of a smile forms on your lips. “Hey, look at that. You actually listened to me.”

You’re pretty when you smile— _really pretty_ , and when you vanish around the bend, he finds himself wanting to see you smile more than he’d like to admit.

 _Ugh_ , still.

 _You are a pain in his ass_.

But.

Maybe he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's talk about oikawa and what an ideal boy he is on @ wanderlu5tt on twitter :)


	4. why'd i have to break what i love so much?

**_day 44_ **

The cherry blossoms are blooming—today, of all days, and with it comes the first breath of spring and the end of winter.

Oikawa lugs himself to the gymnasium after school, taking in the sight of it all. Miyagi’s regional competition -- _Battle of the Districts_ \-- is set to take place soon, which means a rematch with Shiratorizawa, and maybe more importantly, that damned Ushiwaka.

So they practice and put in just a little bit more effort than usual.

Kindaichi does his best to sprint just a little faster, Iwaizumi tries to hit harder, and Oikawa does his damnedest to keep the ball rolling, even if it means his knee faces the wrath of his self-inflicted overcompensation. It’s an unspoken covenant they share; any chance could be _that_ one chance, and he’s not going to pass it up, not even for a second’s rest.

He has no obligations tethering him away from the court now: no girlfriend, no failing grades, no schoolwork. He’s as free as can be, _as free as the damned wind_ , and he thinks, of course, he might prefer it this way.

Watari smiles, cordially, and mentions something about a party in passing to some of the bench warmers. “Yeah, Sawari-san invited a few of the second-years in my class to a party tonight. She said—”

Oikawa blinks. “Sawa-chan’s throwing a party?”

A blush blooms on Watari’s face as he averts his gaze to some far-off void in the gymnasium that no one else sees. “I think it’s a small get-together,” he says, softly, the words crumbling in his mouth.

Iwaizumi watches in irritation as the volleyball he’s supposed to spike goes limp in the air, hitting the ground. “Oi, pay attention, shithead,” he snaps, and when Oikawa doesn’t turn around, he stalks over, giving him a flick in the neck. “You’re clearly not invited, so whatever idea you have about crashing, _leave it_.”

**_day 324_ **

It’s been approximately 24 days since your birthday, approximately 24 days since you’ve broken up, and 24 days since Oikawa’s given up on you for good.

But it doesn’t matter because in the span of seventeen years, he’s only ever had one great love—

Volleyball.

It’s the only thing he’s ever considered worth waking up early for, _working for_ , _grinding day and in out for,_ and disciplining himself for—the only thing he’s ever bled for. Breathed for.

So when he pushes himself, he thinks he’s doing himself a favor: this is the only constant in his life that’s never betrayed him, that’s never made him question himself, that’s never lied to him.

For what it's worth, he hadn’t spoken to you since your fight over the wall. You don't text him, he doesn't text you, and when you pass each other in school, you don't speak or greet each other. _You don't even look at each other_. No heart-wrenching gazes of longing, _no sadness_ , nothing. In fact, you saw each other so infrequently that you stopped showing up all together. _Probably busy with your dad_ , he thinks, not that he cares or anything—because Oikawa Tooru definitely has better things to think about.

“You’re so full of shit,” Iwaizumi would tell him one day over lunch, watching with indifference as Oikawa continued fiddling with his tray of untouched food. “Just kiss and make up with her already.”

“Iwa-chan.” Truthfully, he’s in no mood to jest, but he isn’t about to let his displeasure be known aloud either. Displeasure is weakness, and he's doing better than ever post-breakup. “You know I’m dating Shiori-san, right?”

A scoff. “Shit, the second year? You sure move on quick.”

So he did.

Shiori is cute, smart, and most importantly, available. Yes, volleyball would always be his first love, but that didn’t mean he had to cut corners with his personal life, right? His mother always said dating was… _practice_. “Haven’t seen Sawari in three days,” Iwaizumi goes on, yawning. “Wonder if she’s doing alright.”

“She’s probably fine, just busy.” Oikawa looks content to move on, putting on a smile so bright it could’ve fooled anyone— _anyone_ , of course, except Iwaizumi. “She’s the one who said she’d never come back to Miyagi again after she graduated. Maybe she's getting a head start."

But Iwaizumi looks at him, his face contorting with irritation. "Are you truly as heartless as you pretend to be?"

**_day 44_ **

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Oikawa hums a soft little tune as he makes his way to the entryway of your apartment complex. It looks newly renovated, what with its graphite windows and shiny display monitor that looks carved from the tech hub of Tokyo. “Y’know, there’s a saying—anyone who ever built an empire sat exactly where we are now,” he states, a smile breaking wide on his face.

Watari knits his brows, buzzing your apartment. “Does that…really apply here? I thought that was for people who lost their jobs—”

Your voice comes on from the other side, along with your face.

You’re done up pretty, makeup and all, and you’re wearing a nice little off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of fitted jeans that look designer. “Watari-san!” You beam, and when your gaze falls on Oikawa, you falter. “And you brought Oikawa-san..."

“Sawa-chan!” Oikawa immediately shoves Watari out of the way, squishing his face close to the camera. “We’re here for the party. I invited Iwa-chan too, if that’s alright with you.”

Your face contorts—with what? _Rage?_ Irritation?

But there’s bustling in the background and you look too tired to fight this battle today, so you press the buzzer and let them up. They oblige happily, with Oikawa leading the way.

Watari, of course, has apprehensions about this, but he tells himself this is for the best; after all, Iwaizumi isn’t too far away, _he’ll show up later_ , which means there’ll be at least another voice of reason in an otherwise very powerful coalition of irrational people.

**_day 324_ **

“Oikawa-kun, have you seen Sawari-san?”

Oikawa is somewhat startled when Meiko, one of his oldest and most loyal fans, approaches him at his locker with a look of concern written on her face.

“I haven’t,” he tells her, feeling somewhat miffed at the question—he’s not your boyfriend, _not your handler_ , so why is everyone asking him about you like he’s responsible for you?

Meiko frowns, her cheeks turning red. “C-can you send her a message? I would, but I never got her number, and…” She’s clenching her fists, looking very much like she’s about to unravel before him in the middle of a very crowded hallway, and it takes him a moment to realize this has taken her a great deal of courage and strength to muster out. “I’m really worried about her."

“I’ll message her,” he tells her with a smile. “Please, don’t worry about it, Meiko-san. Sawa-chan is a smart girl—she’s probably out gallivanting with her dad across Paris or something.”

But she doesn’t look convinced, even as she forces a smile on her face that looks completely exhausted. “I—I hope so,” she mumbles, fiddling with her fingers, lowering her gaze to the floor. “Please, if you hear back from her…”

“I’ll let you know.” Again, he smiles, and puts a hand on her shoulder for good measure. “I’ll let you know first, Meiko-chan.”

When she departs from sight, he untucks his phone and whips up a message to you.

 **oikawa** : sawa-chan  
 **oikawa** : is everything ok?  
 **oikawa** : everyone is really worried  
 **oikawa** : call me when you get the chance, ok?

Your responses are usually instantaneous, _immediate_ —with no time to rest.

But you don’t text back -- there isn’t even a bubble of _dot-dot-dots_ \-- and he tells himself he's probably overthinking it. _He’s **definitely** overthinking it_. You two just broke up, didn’t you? There’s no reason for you to reply and he wouldn’t be surprised if you had his number blocked after what happened that night.

Still.

He can’t put his finger on it, but.

Something’s wrong.

**_day 44_ **

When you open the door of your apartment, the smell of liquor punches the air so thick Oikawa has to wonder if it’s _actually_ your apartment or if it’s the home of some drunken hobo in downtown Tokyo. But there you are, standing in the frame, the bustle of a party undoubtedly taking place full on behind you.

“Watari-san,” you beam, opening the door wide, and when you meet Oikawa’s gaze you frown somewhat dejectedly. “And Oikawa-san…come on in.”

“Thank you for having us.” Watari steps in right after Oikawa, who isn’t content to let you out of his sight quite yet.

“Sawa-chan, you look really cute,” he says, a bit too eagerly, as you motion to the table of different spirits by the kitchenette. “Is that a new top? Where did you buy it? From the city? There aren’t a lot of malls in Miyagi—”

“Drinks are over here,” you interject, pointing to the bottle of vodka sitting front and center on the table. “Everyone’s been making their own concoctions, but I’m happy to whip something up too if you want.” You’re smiling, of course, at Watari, who blushes. “Anyway, feel free to mingle and have fun.”

Oikawa follows you out of the kitchen while Watari lingers behind, studying the bottles as if he’s figuring out the Sunday crossword. “Sawa-chan~ I was wondering if I could have a word with you,” he says, grinning, and notices that almost everyone else at the party has already gotten a head start and that your hands are empty, no cup in sight. “Should I make you a drink first?”

“I don’t drink,” you tell him, whipping around to meet his gaze. “What’re you doing here?”

“Aw, Sawa-chan—”

You sigh, running your fingers through your hair as you step over a group of friends in the middle of the room who are playing King’s Cup with a pack of liquor-soaked bicycle cards. They laugh at you to join them, and you promise them later, as you slide open the French doors of your bedroom.

“Oikawa! What about you? Join us!”

“C’mon!”

“Sorry guys,” he grins their way, filtering in right behind you into the bedroom. “Next time, maybe."

It’s a half-truth, half-lie. Alcohol means empty calories and he’s certainly not about to get shitfaced while he’s training for an upcoming match. Not to mention, he has an immaculate image to upkeep and tend to, _this party is filled with people he barely knows_ , and sure he’s not above having a drink once in a while, but the timing’s all wrong and besides…

You head to the bathroom, where the sound of retching is bouncing off the walls, and Oikawa peeks in and finds Kaede puking her brains out.

He freezes, watching in mortification as you kneel next to her, offering her a cup of water. “You shouldn’t have had so much so fast,” you tell her, somewhat like a mother chiding a kid. “Is this your first-time drinking?”

She responds by retching up some more vomit into the toilet and Oikawa decides it’s probably best if he dismisses himself quietly back to the party, where it’s safe— _where his ex-girlfriend isn’t vomiting her brains out,_ but when he returns, he sees Iwaizumi in the doorway, along with two other strangers wearing Shiratorizawa uniforms.

They shove past him, making him grunt—a guy and a girl. “Where’s Setsuna?” says the guy, and the party goes quiet as he steps right past the game of King’s Cup taking place in the center of the floor.

“I don’t think she’s here, Daisuke,” says the girl, a pretty one—her hair is immaculately trimmed and her eyes are big and brown, _curious_. “Maybe we got the wrong apartment number.”

The guy named Daisuke snorts. “Kei, you said it yourself. This is definitely her new building.” He ignores the other attendees, shoving past Watari, who just poured himself a cup of orange juice in the kitchenette.

Iwaizumi steps in front of him, staring him down with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets like he’s an absolute fucking shitstain on his otherwise perfect and immaculate day. “Who are you and what do you want with Sawari-san?”

**_day 324_ **

Oikawa gives you three calls that get sent straight to voicemail.

So he stops by the nursing home and the in-house nurses who recognize who he is tell him it’s been a week since you last stopped by.

Grandpa’s not having a good day, and he knows not to press his luck, but he’s desperate, _thinking about where you could’ve gone_ , and why you had to take it this far to disappear without a word.

But grandpa smiles at him with that empty gaze and he finds his resolve willowing. “Do you have Sawa-chan’s dad’s contact information?” He asks, smiling. “He left an old painting in the apartment that Sawa-chan asked me to send back to him.”

A lie, but he figures it's for the best.

**_day 44_ **

“Hey now, we’re all friends here,” Oikawa intervenes with a thousand-watt smile, looking to the girl in the Shiratorizawa for affirmation. “Right?”

She blushes. _Hook, line, sinker_. “Old friends, yeah," she says.

In that moment, you step into the room—a smile lighting up that pretty face of yours, only for it to vanish when you catch sight of the Shiratorizawa uniforms.

Without hesitation, the guy named Daisuke shoves past Oikawa, Kei following closely from behind. “Well, well, well—been a while, hasn’t it?” He says, giving you a bone-crushing hug that has you lifted high into the air. "We've missed you."

“Hey!” You laugh, as he lowers you back down, and the girl named Kei immediately reaches to fondle your chest. “ _Hey!_ Watch those hands," you swat her away, and it's only then Oikawa realizes you're pretty well endowed despite your frame.

“Should we take this to the balcony?” Daisuke grins, rubbing his hands together. “I have a present for you.”

“A present?”

He winks.

Oikawa frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. _He doesn’t trust this guy_ , or this girl for that matter. And for what it’s worth, neither does Iwaizumi, as he saunters over with his hands in his pockets.

“What a dick,” he mumbles softly, and Watari quietly agrees from the corner, taking a sip of his orange juice.

You filter behind them towards the balcony, but Oikawa catches you by the wrist before you get the chance to follow them outside. “Hey, are you OK?” he asks, and you look at him, meeting his gaze, and you actually smile.

You look relieved at the question, maybe somewhat tired, but you do your best to keep your chin up anyway. “I think they just want to talk,” you say, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “…thanks for asking, though.”

He can tell you mean it.

So he lets you go.

**_day 324_ **

The nonstop vibrations from your phone are only a momentary distraction, so you spare the screen a short glance before returning your attention to the empty streets of Miyagi, swaying under the streetlight like an air dancer at a cheap car dealership.

You’re not dressed for the winter, but what else is new? You hug the black lapels of your fur coat shut, nothing underneath except a bralette, a pair of _too-short_ shorts—your abdomen completely exposed to the wind, along with your ample bosom, a blessing and a curse. You think you look rather cute, but as you take another swig from your canister of cheap vodka, you catch your reflection and wonder if you look trashy instead.

Slowly, you make your way down the main street, cars whizzing through the road like a bunch of roaring mosquitos. You completely disregard the oncoming traffic, and there’s a wail of a horn that follows in your wake as you make your way across the street where the pool bar sits.

In fact, you do such a bang-up job of breezing past the sirens, you actually bump into the base of the stoplight and apologize.

“Saying sorry to inanimate objects again?”

Two very familiar faces appear—Daisuke and Kei, your old friends from Shiratorizawa. Kei’s the first to run to you, grinning, hugging you so tight you can’t breathe while Daisuke saunters slowly behind her, offering you a curt nod of acknowledgment with a cigarette dangling from his lip. “You smell drunk,” he tells you, smirking. “You started without us?”

“She always did, even back when she was still at Shiratorizawa,” says Kei, pouting somewhat as she pulls away from you, staring at your breasts. “Nice outfit, by the way. Are you trying to catch flies tonight or what?"

Daisuke laughs cheerlessly, offering you a canister from his chest pocket. “A little pick me up for you, dear,” he says.

“What is it?” You blink, taking it. “Ketamine?”

“Just take it,” he smiles, blowing smoke circles around your head. “You'll like it, trust me."

You shrug and down the contents in one gulp.

**_day 44_ **

There’s a gap to the balcony and Oikawa can make out your outline outside—you’re chatting away with your friends, and he’s doing his best to make small talk with the others at the party, essentially doing your job _hosting_ at your apartment.

“Oi, let’s just go,” says Iwaizumi, looking very much bored. “Not like we can drink anyway.”

Fair point. And Oikawa has every reason to leave, what with his ex-girlfriend puking her brains out in your bathroom, the conversation he definitely _doesn’t_ want to have with her while she’s inebriated, and with your attention completely elsewhere—there’s really no point to stay at all. “In a bit, Iwa-chan,” he says, grinning. “At least until her friends leave.”

“Who knows when that’ll be?”

But Iwaizumi barely gets his question out before Oikawa starts making his way to the balcony, hovering nearby like he’s a damned spy in an action movie. He’s _listening in_ , and it works, of course, because your apartment’s pretty small and none of your friends seem to notice him lurking while they're passing around some kind of canister.

"Ushijima? Like, really?" The guy named Daisuke shrugs. "I mean... _come on."_

"What?" You frown. "He's...really cute. And he's really nice too."

“Yeah, but did you really think he'd accept your confession?” Kei goes on, taking a swig from Daisuke's canister. “Like, you’re really, _really_ pretty and all—and you have a super nice rack too, but you two would be really boring together. Like, really, really boring.”

"Boring?"

Daisuke shrugs. "It's not bad to be boring," he says. "You'd probably be better off with someone who can balance it out though, y'know? Someone fun. Someone...not named Ushijima."

You wince, looking hurt, but they just laugh and you actually freaking laugh along with them.

No wonder your grandpa hates your friends—they’re _dicks_.

But you don’t seem to notice, and you’re going along with this like it's your own joke, as the guy named Daisuke tugs a plastic baggy of white powder from his jean pocket, _god knows what the hell that is_. “Let’s do a line for old time’s sake?” he offers.

Wait, wait, wait.

 _Does he have the right girl_?

What a ridiculous thought, Oikawa thinks, _there’s no way someone like_ you _would do something like that_. Look at you! You’re the definition of uptight, _unbearable_ , and prude.

“I don’t do that anymore,” you say, shifting somewhat uncomfortably, hugging yourself tightly as you inch away from the balcony ledge.

Kei pouts. “You’re no fun.”

Daisuke shrugs, “Well, suit yourself. Do you mind if we—y’know? Is your bathroom free?”

“Um…well, my friend—"

At this point, Oikawa’s running on empty and he slides the door of your balcony wide open, smiling at you. “I think you should leave,” he says, smiling politely as Daisuke blinks at him like a dipshit deer in headlights.

“Who the hell is this? Your boyfriend?"

**_day 324_ **

You’re faded.

Everything around you is overstimulating—the lights, _the blare of the car horns_ , and the bustle of downtown Miyagi. It’s a Friday night and you’re alive, _prickling_ , feeling the cold kiss of winter against your bare skin as you amble down the street, just barely catching your breath against the base of a streetlight.

You exhale, staggering towards the train station as the last of the night riders filter through the entrance, staring at you, probably wondering if you’re some kind of sex worker or prostitute, but you literally don’t give a shit as you press your forehead against the window, smiling.

 _This is a night for forgetting_ , you think, taking another swig from the canister that Daisuke offered earlier on— _this is a night for forgetting_ , and everything around you is spinning, spinning, spinning…

You think it tastes like whiskey, but you can’t tell the difference anymore as you swallow and let your throat burn.

“Sawari-san?”

It takes you a moment to realize there’s a boy standing before you—tall, dark, handsome, probably around your age. Judging from the uniform underneath his pea coat, he’s from Tokyo; and he looks very much concerned as he cocks his head to the side, studying your outfit before meeting your gaze dead on.

“K—Kuroo,” you mumble softly, _slurring_. “Kuroo-kun!” You say, again, the words just as garbled as the first time around. “Wow, it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

Maybe you’re being a little too forward, _maybe flirting around while you’re totally shitfaced_ isn’t such a good idea, but y’know—he’s totally your type. _Tall, dark, handsome_ , and probably a good kisser too…right? “You must be freezing,” he says, face contorting at the sight of your bralette and your breasts on full display. “Take this.” He unzips his bag and pulls out an athletic jacket from the depths, tossing it to you.

You barely catch it, hugging it to your chest tightly.

Then you start taking off your fur coat.

“Sawari-san—”

You drop it to the ground, slipping on the jacket one sleeve at a time while a blush blooms on Kuroo’s face. When he realizes you’re not going to pick up your coat, he kneels down and picks it up for you, slipping it around your shoulders and clasping the lapels together, being weirdly paternal.

“Are you drunk?” He says, looking into your eyes, and when he realizes there’s nothing inside you—you’re totally dull, _totally gone_ ; you’re not just drunk, _you’re high as a fucking kite_. “Where’s Oikawa-san?”

You stretch your arms out, looking at the uniform. “It…looks…pretty good…on me,” you slur, somewhat tragically, even as you smile his way. “Don’t you think?”

He sighs, probably realizing he’s not going to get anywhere with you at this rate. He can’t just leave you here, but he can’t quite overstay his welcome either because the optics look really, really bad. “Where’s your phone?” He asks, checking to see if you’re carrying a purse— _you’re not_ —and realizing slowly that everything he’s asking is going way over your head because you’re utterly, _utterly_ faded.

“Is there a problem here?”

Fuck.

A cop comes ambling out of the convenience store at the corner and Kuroo instinctively recoils at the sight. “Nothing,” he says, smiling cordially. “My friend’s lost her way—I’m just taking her home.”

It’s the wrong answer.

The cop glances at you, studying you, and you beam at him.

“Is this boy bothering you?”

**_day 44_ **

Kei sighs. “That’s Tooru, the pride of Miyagi. I've seen his face on TV before,” she sighs, cocking her head to the side before meeting _your gaze_. “What’s with you and all these volleyball players? Like, _seriously_. You couldn’t get Ushijima so you had to settle for second-best?”

Oikawa blinks. “S-second best?”

You stand up. “Hey.” There’s no flicker of amusement on your face this time around—you’re looking at them like they’re utter garbage (which they are, Oikawa thinks), and when you make your way over next to him, he feels a flutter of encouragement in his belly. “He’s the best setter in Miyagi.”

They have a look on their face like _what the fuck does that even mean_ , but you’re not quite done yet, as you gesture towards the door. “And he’s right—party’s over. Time for you to go.”

**_day 324_ **

“She’s here!”

From the main street emerges Iwaizumi, along with Oikawa and Watari. “Sawa, you frickin' dipshit, we’ve been looking all over Miyagi for you!” He screams.

But you’re looking at the cop, _looking at Kuroo_ , and holy shit you’re actually going to vomit because too much is happening at once. Where’s Daisuke? Where’s Kei? Where did the night go? _How the fuck did you even get here?_

The cop reaches out. “Miss—”

Among the bustle, _people screaming your name_ , Kuroo’s the only one to realize something’s wrong—that panic in your eye, that flightiness—this is bad. “Sawari-san, are you alright?” He asks, and when you meet his gaze, you realize you’re afraid. The high of your trip has gone _bad_. You’re spiraling, _you can’t breathe_ , and the moment the cop turns to look at Oikawa in the distance, you turn around and bolt for the street.

“ _Sawa-chan_!”

Everything is spinning, _everything is moving too fast_ , and the last thing you see is a pair of lights in the distance, and the car hurtling towards you— _the horns screaming_ —

And then, darkness.

**_day 44_ **

Everyone filters out your apartment, and by the time the clock strikes 1am, it’s just you and Oikawa left, cleaning up the mess. Iwaizumi and Watari offer to help, but you wave them off with a smile, and Oikawa finds himself somewhat grateful that they’re gone—because it means alone time, and because there’s been something he’s been meaning to tell you.

“Your friends...aren't nice," he states, only a little bitter, as he helps settle the cups in your sink.

You pause, "I know."

"You shouldn't let them treat you that way."

"I know."

"They're mean."

You pause again, making your way past the floor, meeting him at the sink. He turns to look at you, ready to say something more, but your eyes are heavy with desire, and you don't hesitate when you lean up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

It’s electric.

He has to take a moment to digest the fact that you’ve just kissed him, that _you made the first move_ , and when you pull away, he looks you in the eye and wonders why you look prettier now that it’s quiet. “I’m…sorry about that,” you say, somewhat lamely, taking a step back. "I just..." _Really wanted to kiss him?_

But he decides not to hesitate this time, leaning in to kiss you again, parting his lips, his tongue probing for entrance—and you grant it, pulling him closer, _winding your fingers through his hair_ , and he feels your breasts press against his chest as he leans down, craning your head, tasting every inch of you.

 _You taste like milkbread_ , he thinks, _sweet and soft, if soft had a taste_. He kisses you deeply, and you kiss back, and he wonders if it’s alright to touch you, but decides at last it’s not worth risking the moment— _because the moment feels good_. Too good to ruin.

He’s the first to pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, and he looks at you, _eyes heady and heavy-lidded_ , and you blush. You look shameless, _absolutely freaking shameless_ , and he thinks he quite likes that breathless gasp that escapes you when he leans in to press a kiss to your mouth, to your neck, lower—and lower.

“Oikawa-san…”

“Mm?”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you turn your cheek. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” you say softly, and instinctively he knows you’re right.

But.

He doesn’t want to stop—and it takes every fiber of effort to actually tear himself away.

You look small in the apartment, what with all your friends gone, and something about it makes him feel somber, but he decides it's not worth overthinking as he turns his attention back to the sink and all the cups you're going to have to clean later.

You smile weakly. “Let’s…not make this complicated, alright?” You say, somewhat unsurely as you lower your gaze. "Not while Kaede...and, um, you know... It wouldn't be a good idea."

Something hurts, he thinks, and he leans in slowly to press a-not-so-platonic kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering a moment too long to be accidental. _You smell like flowers and fruit_ , and he notices you don’t pull away—you’re _blushing_. You like this. _You really do_. You like this, but there's nothing you can do about it.

For now, at least.

“Just friends,” he smiles, and you smile back and nod.

**_day 324_ **

“State your name and your occupation.”

Iwaizumi is unable to hide that look of complete and utter disdain on his face as he shifts his gaze from the halls of the hospital to the cop before him. “Iwaizumi Hajime, student,” he states, placidly, and catches sight of some random kid getting his face stitched up in the accompanying room next door. “Oi, Nobu-san, let’s cut the bullshit. You know who I am.”

“Witness statements—it’s standard protocol,” comes the reply, cool and clipped.

Meanwhile, Oikawa’s staring at the clock mounted on the wall in hallway, the ticks winding down slowly—time feeling too still to be moving. He stifles a sigh, burying his chin into his knees as he looks up to look at Nobu. “Is she OK?” He asks, unsure when exactly he’ll actually be able to see you.

“She’s fine now,” he answers, flipping through the pages of his clipboard. “You have any way of contacting her family?”

Oikawa starts rattling off the answers quickly, _too quickly_. “Her dad’s overseas—and her grandpa is…in no state to take care of her,” he says, running through the list of options only to come up empty yet again.

“And her mother?”

He falls silent. “She’s…out of the picture.”

“Aunts? Uncles? Anyone else?”

Oikawa knows your story, _knows that this isn’t what you want_ —isn’t what you need. “Just put me down as her guardian,” he says, firmly, meeting Nobu’s gaze dead on. “I’m her boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi elbows him in the ribs, “ _Ex-boyfriend_.”

Nobu just sighs, staring disinterestedly at the notes in his clipboard. “You know that’s not how this works, right?” But it’s not a fight worth pursuing, not for now at least, and he ambles down just a bit further to your room, where Kuroo is waiting outside while the nurses are fussing over all the tubes and IVs inside you.

“You could make this easier on yourself,” Nobu says, sighing, stopping short of the doorway.

But Kuroo’s worried—he’s not so much thinking about the questioning that’s rearing to come, but the fact that your body had crumpled like a ragdoll in a matter of moments. “What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, and there’s no resolve in his voice when he turns his gaze to look at the uniform before him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, student from Tokyo, captain of Nekoma.” Nobu starts rattling off what little information he’s gathered so far. “Is there any reason why you were out so late in Miyagi _?_ ”

“I have college prep afterschool so I took the last bullet train to make it to scrims,” he replies, slowly, only now realizing that these questions were probably important. “I saw Sawari-san outside the train station, loitering around I guess, and…” And the rest is history, he thinks, lowering his gaze, trying hard not to think about how you’d bolted like you were being chased by some kind of monster.

“And what’s your relationship with…Sawari-san?”

“An…acquaintance I guess.”

“You just happened to run into her?”

“Um, yeah.”

Nobu raises an eyebrow, scribbling a few more notes in his pad. Kuroo, somewhat helpfully, looks down to see he’s making a timeline. “Like I said, I got off the train and saw her outside. I offered her my jacket because I thought she might be cold, and then—”

A pause.

“Am I being accused of something?”

 **_day 325_ ** ****

You wake up to an unfamiliar room, the lights blindingly fluorescent and the ceiling an ugly seafoam color that makes your head _thump_ in pain. In some shoddy attempt at sitting up, your entire vision starts shaking— _the room starts spinning_ , and there’s a searing pain in your arm where you find an IV needle…

A rattling of a cart rushes down the hall and your head is suddenly splitting with a headache as you try to make sense of where you are, _what the hell is happening_ , and why you’re here.

“Sawa-chan!”

You flinch and find Oikawa blinking at you from the corner seat, where he’s apparently been sleeping all night. Quicker than you can comprehend, he stands up and walks over to your bedside and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight you can barely breathe.

Pain, _god everything part of you is in pain_ , and when he pulls away, all you can do is blink. “What…happened last night?”

He looks at you, his eyes softening, and takes a seat next to you, never quite letting go of your hand. “You got…drunk in Torono Town,” he explains, voice soothing, lacking any sort of that familiar amusement that you adored. “The doctors said…they found some kind of drug in your system that causes…paranoia and hallucinations.”

 _Shit, shit, shit_.

You lower your gaze again, suddenly feeling very ashamed of where you are and why you’re here because this is the same exact shit that got you kicked out of school to begin with and where did that lead you— _right back where you began_. You're a fucking shitshow, and when that realization dawns, your eyes well up with hot tears as Oikawa reaches out to brush a lock of your hair away from your face.

“Sawa-chan…” He cups your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why…”

You pull away, blinking away tears again, but they’re coming so fast you can’t catch them in time and so you scramble to wipe them away with the back of your hand, feeling very much humiliated. “… _we broke up_ ,” you tell him, and you’re actually choking now—unable to muster up the right words. “After everything that happened, I didn’t want to bother you.”

 _You're just a damned nuisance_.

He stops. Without any indication things are going wrong, he stops.

And pulls back.

He’s not smiling.

It takes you a moment to realize tears are streaming down his face—that he’s crying, _quietly crying_ , and looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists in this stupid room, _in this stupid world_. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

“Why are you apolo—”

He interrupts with a hug, his arms coiling around you so tight all you can do is stare over his shoulder at the ceiling. You relax, for the first time in a long time, and lose yourself in the moment because _you can finally unwind and let go now_. You are an absolutely basket-case of rawness and emotion, but he’s still here— _why the hell is he still here_? He doesn’t owe you anything; he’s with someone else now; he’s—

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, so _please don’t do that again_. Please. I’m begging you.”

“What about Shiori-san?” You ask, softly, breathing in his scent—familiar and warm.

He doesn't answer.

**_day 330_ **

You sigh, peering into your paper bag, as if that stupid red athletic jacket sitting inside is going to grow legs and run away or something.

Nekoma High is a far way from Miyagi, a bullet train, followed by two transfers on the subway, but here you are, scanning the sea of students for a familiar face you can’t quite find. Sure, you probably should’ve called in advance but—1) you don’t have _his_ number 2) you’d done this on a whim, with no expectation.

Until.

There he is—in the entrance, walking alongside another boy with a faded dye job that looks outdated. You bolt towards him, pushing past the faces you don’t know, until you reach the steps and call out his name.

“Kuroo-san!”

"Sawari-san?"

He looks miffed, _surprised_ at the sight of you, and glances at the paper bag that you have holding out. “I’m really, really, super, _super,_ really, really sorry,” you tell him, bowing low, _too low_ , like you’re begging for forgiveness from some imperial king in the olden days. “I shouldn’t have done what I did—and I shouldn’t have let things get out of hand. It was irresponsible, and you ended up getting in trouble because of it. It was my fault. I was being stupid, and you had to suffer. I’m so sorry, truly.”

You trail off, still holding out the paper bag. “I brought you…your jacket. Um, thank you for that. I sent it to the cleaners, so it should be… _clean_ , I guess.” Holy shit, you sound so freaking clumsy and stupid, _everything is garbled_ and crumbling and your face is turning scarlet as you look up to meet his gaze.

Kenma, reading the situation with an eyebrow cocked, takes off first, leaving Kuroo alone with you. “You can save the apologies, Sawari-san,” he tells you, smiling. “Honestly, I was worried you might’ve died or something.” And he takes the paper bag from your hand. “Thanks for bringing this, by the way. It must’ve been a long way from Miyagi.”

He’s not mad at you—he’s not mad at you and the thought is sort of relieving, if anything, exhilarating. You’re not prepared for this reaction; in fact, you half-expected him to give you a lecture, so when you look up to see him smiling, you blush.

“There—there must be something I can do to make it up,” you say.

“Oh, there’s no need—”

“ ** _Please!_** ”

He smiles, stroking his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Hm…maybe you can buy me lunch.”

“Buy…you…lunch?”

"Oh, right. You're still with Oikawa-san, right? Yeesh, my bad. Maybe--"

"--we're not together. Anymore. Um," you interject, softly. "We decided it was best that we just stayed friends... _never mind_. Um, lunch you said? I _think_ we can do that. Just--"

“Well, if that’s too much to ask for, you don’t have to,” he says, shrugging.

“No—wait. Please let me buy you lunch,” you interject.

He cups his ear, pretending like he can’t hear you over the bustle of the school. “What was that?”

You’re adamant, and you step up on your tip-toes. “I said please let me buy you lunch.”

“You’re gonna have to speak up if—”

“ _Please_ let me buy you—”

He grins deviously, “Don’t do me any favors, Sawari-san—”

“ ** _I WANT TO BUY YOU LUNCH. PLEASE LET ME BUY YOU LUNCH!_** ”

“OK, OK.” Kuroo tries to stifle his laughter, leading you down the steps of the entrance. “I’ll let you buy me lunch, jeez.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scream abt oikawa to me @ [wanderlu5tt](https://twitter.com/wanderlu5tt) on twitter
> 
> EDIT: I know I promised to finish this (and I will!) but IDK IM UNMOTIVATED SO ILL BE WORKING ON OTHER FICS FOR NO OTHER REASON OTHER THAN I AM HUMAN 😭😭😭


	5. now you're blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's.. almost.. over....

**day 300**

You’re dating.

And it’s been official for about seven months, which is frankly kind of amazing since you’d assumed this wouldn’t last more than a week. Cynical as you are, things are going pretty swell. You wake up every day to a good morning text, meet him at your bus stop, and hitch a ride to school on his bike rack. You even start dusting your face with makeup, a worthy effort because you have someone to impress now.

At midnight, your phone rings and you look over to see a new text.

 **oikawa** : happy birthday sawa-chan!  
 **oikawa** : am I first?  
 **oikawa** : lol tooru oikawa is always first

But the sleepiness hits you like a freight train and you’re fast asleep before you can even think of a response.

*

Oikawa sighs at his phone, ignoring the many open textbooks sitting on his kotatsu. When Iwaizumi ignores him, he sighs even louder.

A toddler vying for attention through and through.

Iwaizumi decides to bite. “What is it.”

“Why hasn’t Sawa-chan responded to my text?” He says, pouting, staring at the clock. “Do you know if she’s ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?”

“How long has it been?”

The clock reads 12:02am. “Two minutes,” says Oikawa, still pouting.

“Every day I wonder how you’ve managed to survive this far in life,” Iwaizumi mutters, turning back to his notes. “And every day you manage to find a new way to surprise me.”

**day 330**

Kuroo drinks his coffee black, which is oddly novel since he’s ordered a table full of desserts to share. For what it's worth, you go along with it -- "try the pie!"; "their cake here is the best" -- until the sweetness has you overwhelmed with a headache. Or perhaps a toothache? _Meh._

You’ve asked him a fair amount of questions about himself, enough to make this whole lunch feel like a job interview. _What’re your plans after high school? Do you know what schools you want to go to? Oh! I’m applying there too. There’s this art program that I’m thinking about. It’s kind of late, but if I get in I get to open with an exhibit, which is pretty neat. Not that my art is any good…_

“Hey, can I ask you what happened to Oikawa?” He asks, suddenly, breaking you away from that sweet reverie because you seem perfectly content with talking about the future and ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room. “He was really distraught that night.”

Your face contorts and he thinks he might start regretting that decision very, _very_ much. But before he gets the chance to change the subject, you say, “…I think he was just worried about me.” And you start blushing, looking very sheepish admitting this aloud. “But we’re not together. We, um…we broke up recently, actually.”

“Oh.” Somehow, this tidbit of information is far more interesting than Kuroo expects. “Can I ask what happened?”

**day 300**

You show up on time at the bus stop, carrying your thermal of hot coffee, wearing Seijoh’s summer uniform—a sleeveless button up and a flared brown skirt. God knows why you’re still drinking hot coffee when it’s summer, but he doesn’t question it when you take your seat on the back of his bike and bid him good morning. “You look awfully perky today,” you tell him and when you yawn, rubbing away the tears from those sleepy eyes, he feels his heart skip a beat.

You’re so damn cute even when you don’t try.

“It’s your birthday, Sawa-chan,” he says. “Of course I’m happy.”

He feels you press your cheek against his back as he pedals down the main road. “Um. OK.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

You shrug as the wind breezes past and he gets a whiff of your shampoo, flowery and sweet. “I never really celebrated my birthday growing up. So it’s not a big deal to me.”

The thought is enough to make him wince because the thought of you sitting alone in that one-bedroom apartment is unbearably sad. _Thoughtless, really_. “What about…presents? _Cake_?” He says, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on—birthdays are fun!”

You consider it, pursing your lips as your gaze meets the horizon, where the sun is beaming bright. “My family is pretty well off, so I have almost everything I need.” Your answer is cool and clipped, like you’ve practiced this spiel many, many times, as if to avoid pity.

He pauses, wonders if he should press his luck. “And your mom?”

“What about her?”

Well, he already knows your dad is too busy traveling and working to meet you.

But your mom has been a subject of contention. You don’t mention her much, only that your dad filed for divorce when you were too young to understand what that really meant. “Doesn’t she…at least send you a card? Or a text?”

Again, you shrug. “Grandpa cut off our contact when I was young so even if she wanted to send me something she couldn’t.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not really.”

“You really are no fun,” Oikawa sighs, pulling to a full stop in front of the school.

You leap off the rack as he locks up his bike and he turns to meet your gaze, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It surprises you because your face goes beet red and you stumble back into the other bikes—

\--he catches you by the wrist before you fall. “Luckily for you, you’re dating the great Tooru Oikawa,” he says, leaning close to press another kiss to your face.

But you dodge it, pretty skillfully too, twirling around and grinning wide at him. “You really say the dorkiest things,” you tell him, and he registers it as a compliment because you don’t call it lame or _stupid_. You think it’s dorky and _dorky means cute_ so he follows you from behind like a puppy as you hold the door open for him—and when you don’t think he’s looking, he whips around and plants a sloppy kiss to your forehead.

A gasp—followed by a shriek, _then a laugh_ as he wraps his arms around you in a vice grip, kissing you all over your face, tasting every inch of you. “Oikawa— _oi—hey!”_ And when you struggle, he picks you up and carries you to your locker where he pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time.

For what it’s worth, you’re not resisting as you lean against the cold metal of the locker, feeling his weight press into you, _all warm and encompassing_ against the frigid air-conditioned halls. He slides his tongue in your mouth and suddenly you’re full-on making, probing deeper and deeper—

Until he stops. Without any warning he’s tired, he stops—and there’s a strand of saliva connecting your swollen lips.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you start, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. "Not here, anyway."

But he’s looking at you with eyes heavy-lidded. “You don’t want to?”

“No! No—I mean…” Your face turns red and somehow the locker has turned hot, _blistering_ against your back as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face. "I want to. But. Not here, obviously." With a bit more confidence, and somewhat of a chip on your shoulder, you take a breath.

“I’m just kidding,” he says—and he plants a kiss to your forehead, genial and platonic. “We should make it special this time, since it's your birthday."

But that look in your face—it’s one of sadness and he realizes in that moment he’s said the wrong thing. “Oh—I…would you want to?"

You nod slowly, but that blush on your face is gone and you look at him with that cold gaze he knows all too well. “But it’s not a big deal to me,” you say and with that rather mirthless tone in your voice he believes it. “I want to,” you whisper softly, biting down shamelessly on your lower lip and Oikawa has to physically restrain himself from tearing off his trousers and taking you right here, right now.

Voices come filtering down the hall and he pulls away from you, trying to bury the very much burgeoning hard on that’s threatening to tug at his pants. “Well, we could go today, if you want,” he says. “There’s um—”

He waits for the voices to vanish into another classroom before he goes on.

“—a love hotel in Torono Town. It's really nice."

You smile at him and nod.

**day 330**

“And then he forgot?”

You nod, slowly, recounting the events of your birthday like it was yesterday. It didn’t take you long to realize he’d forgotten you because you’d waited up in the love hotel by yourself like an idiot until the sun set and you had to check out by yourself _embarrassingly_ alone.

Then came to the _surprise_.

And the wall.

The fight.

The breakup.

“You know what you need?” Kuroo drains the last bit of his coffee and waves at the waitress for another round. “You need a rebound,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You play with your untouched plate of cake. “That’s not really my style,” you reply a bit lamely; even if it’s the truth, there’s no dancing around the fact that Oikawa really did a number on you. Even if he weren’t with Shiori, even if he were single, you’re pretty sure you’d still be moping around feeling sorry for yourself. “What about you? Any girlfriends I should know about?”

“If I did we probably wouldn’t be eating lunch like this right now,” he says.

For a while, both of you sit there in silence—and slowly, like a light has gone off, a smile lights up on Kuroo’s face as if some divine revelation has descended upon him. “What about Ushijima? He’s single, isn’t he?”

“I’ve been rejected by him three times,” you laugh, feeling very embarrassed at your pitiful track record. “He’s way too good for me.”

And then it hits you. _It’s the same thing grandpa said about Oikawa_.

And did that stop him? No.

If anything, it made him want you more. He worked harder to vie for your affection, and where did that inevitably lead him? _Back to you_. And though the memory is enough to make you _really ache_ , a smile forms on your face instead. “Actually, Kuroo-san—” You meet his gaze dead on, a profound moment of understanding crossing your face. “I don't think my feelings for Ushijima-kun are there anymore, if we're being honest here. But..."

You meet his gaze. "You're right. It would be nice to have some closure."

**day 300**

Iwaizumi enters your classroom through the backdoor, noting with some disdain that you’re sitting by yourself in a faraway corner. The others are grouped up and the air is filled with a cacophony of idle chatter, but you’re quiet—almost lonely. _Weird_.

From what he understands, you have a pretty solid group of friends, so why is it—

_“You know she’s dating Oikawa-san now?”_

_“Nah, they’ve been together for a while.”_

_“Yeah. Apparently they tried to keep it secret, but I saw them making out by the lockers."_

_“Oh my god how lame.”_

_“After what he did to Kaede-chan?”_

_“Yeah, so much for being good friends right?”_

_“That means they’re, like, eskimo sisters now.”_

_“Ew.”_

Iwaizumi frowns, making his way over to you because he’s almost _one hundred percent sure_ you can hear everything they’re saying. It’s not like they’re trying to be subtle about it and from the look on your face you look like you couldn’t care less. _Or at least you don’t_ seem _like you give a shit_.

When he slides his chair in front of you and sits leaning on its backrest, you look surprised. “Iwaizumi-san.”

“I heard from the front office you’re graduating early,” he says. “That true?”

You blink—and it’s only then he sees the sketches you’re doing on your desk. Sketches that you cover with other papers because you notice him staring. “Um, yeah,” you say, completely flustered because it’s a topic you’ve all but avoided. “I have enough credits, and I wanted to get a head start on college, so it was something I was considering— _please don’t tell Oikawa-san_.”

_“Apparently Sawari-san was a big party girl in her old school.”_

_“My friend said she was super desperate to have a boyfriend. Guess nothing’s changed.”_

_“Like a serial monogamist?”_

_“Nah—apparently she got rejected constantly. Guys don’t like it when girls are so easy, y’know?”_

The whispers continue and you lower your gaze, but Iwaizumi catches it—those are tears in your eyes.

He props an elbow on your desk, angles his gaze to get a good look at you. There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on, something about your face he can’t quite get a read on. He realizes, only after the fact, that while there are some girls who look prettiest when they’re happy—you’re the only girl who looks prettiest when you’re sad.

“ _Oi!_ ” He snaps at the gossiping dickheads. “If you don’t have anything good to say, then do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

You blink at him, a single tear escaping your eyes and coming down the side of your face. “You didn’t have to do that…”

He shrugs, standing up from his seat. “Whatever.” And stuffs his hands deep into his pockets, looking the other way like he knows no better. “Just do me a favor and tell him, alright? I don’t wanna be sandwiched between you two like this.”

You take a breath and nod.

He’s about to turn and leave, but the others in your classroom are still whispering, and he can’t stand the sight of you willowing around like a damned ghost, so he grabs you by the wrist -- you yelp in surprise, of course -- and drags you into the hall. “Does he know they’re treating you like this?” He snaps, far more aggravated than he intends as he takes you to the shelter of a quieter hall. “Have you told him?”

“Um, no…”

Several onlookers offer you a look of pity as he comes barreling to a full stop by gymnasium. “Alright, well you’re going to do that right now—”

“No— _no!_ ” And this time, you’re desperate, whipping away from his grasp. “Don’t tell him. _Please_. He has enough on his plate right now.”

 _You don’t want to burden him because that’s all you do to anyone in life_.

“Please.”

You’re literally begging and his face contorts when you bow before him.

“Please.”

You’re an old record, and the only word you can say is _please_ , but when you stand back up and he sees your eyes are filled with tears again, he relents with a sigh. “Man, you’re shouldering all these burdens and won’t tell anyone—it’s kind of annoying, y'know?"

**day 335**

“You know Sawari’s throwing a goodbye party?” Iwaizumi states, somewhat languidly as he leans into the resting bench at the side of the gymnasium.

When Oikawa yawns, looking very much disinterested at the new tidbit of information, he decides to go on. “I know you like to pretend like you don’t give a shit about your ex-girlfriend, but we all know what happened in the hospital. You should show up, say your proper goodbyes.”

Oikawa doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to play games as he lifts one foot in the air to tie the laces together, a precarious balance. “I’m with Shiori-san.”

Iwaizumi shoves him—and he falls with a yelp to the ground. “You’re a fuckin’ coward, you know that?"

The others on the team are looking their way. The ones who don’t know just shrug it off. It wouldn’t be the first time Iwaizumi went around beating the crap out of his better half. But the others who do know -- _Watari, Kindaichi_ \-- look their way, ready to step in at any moment.

“She really loved you,” he says. “She gave up everything to be with you. You don't...you don't even know half of it."

Oikawa looks miffed. “—what are you—"

“And you know what she said? She said _don’t tell him_ because she was afraid of what that would do to you. So the least you can do is stop being a little shit and show up to say goodbye.”

*

Five days have passed since you’ve apologized to Kuroo and you’re in the midst of cleaning out your apartment, which has turned into somewhat of a hassle because no one’s around to help you out. _Moving is a pain_ but unpacking in a new place in a new city is an even bigger pain that you have yet to acknowledge.

Still.

Starting a new life won’t be too bad. You don’t have any friends around here—no boyfriends. And you can see grandpa on the weekends. Being in Tokyo will be good for you!

Kuroo’s there, and you’ll meet new people at university.

 _New friends, a new start, a new life_.

(You realize, of course, that it’s not enough.)

**day 300**

An hour passes.

Two.

Three.

Club activities should be over—club activities, except volleyball.

You’re sitting alone on the mattress of the love hotel in Torono Town that Oikawa messaged you about. You’re fiddling with your dress, wondering if it’s worth making another phone call that he’ll inevitably ignore. You realize, of course, that he’s probably not going to show up.

So why are you still sitting there waiting?

*

“Take a break,” Iwaizumi snaps, grabbing his very irritated better half by the collar of his t-shirt and nearly flinging him in the stands. “You’re worn out—look at your bum-ass knee. At this rate you’re going to screw up your whole damn body.”

Oikawa mock pouts, “I’m fine.” And stands up, only for white hot pain to shoot up his leg again—he winces, and falls back onto the resting bench while the rest of the team glance up to see what’s going on.

“You’re pushing yourself."

“I just need to walk it off.” As Oikawa pushes himself up, slower this time, he grits his teeth from the jolting pain that’s yet to subside. “That’s all.”

Kindaichi breaks off from the group and heads over with a volleyball in hand. “That’s the last thing you should do be doing when you’re injured.”

“Last time this happened you ended up in the nurse’s office and coach sat you out for two weeks. So stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal and take a break, dipshit.”

“Iwa-chan—”

“Just drop the ego,” Iwaizumi states flatly. “It’s not doing you any favors—if anything, it’s starting to piss me off."

Oikawa pauses; lowers his gaze to his lap. “You always worry about me, Iwa-chan.” A sigh escapes his parted lips as he makes his way across the floor, ignoring the utter strain in his kneecap that’s threatening to have him collapse for all to see. “Fine, I’ll take a break—see you Monday.”

He lets his smile drop when he turns into the hallway of the gym, leaning against the wall to limp towards the locker room. When he untucks his phone from his pocket, he realizes he has about 10 missed calls from you.

“ _Shit_.”

*

 **oikawa** : I’m so sorry sawa-chan

 **oikawa** : I’m so, so, so sorry

 **oikawa** : please don’t be mad

 **oikawa** : I even had a surprise for you

 **oikawa** : sawa-chan

**sawa** : what’s the surprise.

**oikawa** : OMG

 **oikawa** : you actually answered

**sawa** : what’s the surprise.

**oikawa** : sawa-chan T_T

**sawa** : alright then bye

**oikawa** : FINE! Meet me outside your apartment in 20 minutes?

*

 _Thank god_.

He's been planning this surprise for weeks and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Sure, he forgot you at the love hotel—but this’ll make up for it. _This’ll make up for it because it’s thoughtful_ and requires planning—weeks and weeks of planning. The kind of planning that proves he cares. That proves he loves you.

Because he’s invited your mom from Tokyo to meet you for your birthday.

And yes, it took a little convincing from grandpa—and he’s not particularly proud of the means he went through to get your mom’s number—but _hey_ , desperate times call for desperate measures and just because your dad is off gallivanting across the world, being woefully unavailable, doesn’t mean you have to celebrate your birthday without your family.

It’s his best plan yet, practically genius.

So when he see a gaunt woman willowing about in the front of your apartment building, he has to wonder if she's a stranger. In fact, he’s about to walk straight past her until he sees she’s buzzing your apartment complex.

“Ah! You’re Sawari’s mom, right?”

She flinches, stumbling into the wall, scratching her neck—a nervous tick. “W— _Who?”_ Her eyes are bloodshot, _totally strained_ , and she smells...sour. Almost vinegary.

“Sawari…” Oikawa arches a brow, studying her disposition carefully like she's some kind of intruder on his otherwise perfect plan. “Setsuna. She’s your…daughter. Right?”

Her face contorts, but a moment of profound realization dawns and a smile lights up her face as she lowers her hand from scratching her neck—and there are a lot of scratches, he notices, a lot more than he expects from something like a nervous tick. “Y—yes! Setsuna. That’s my daughter,” she says, and she licks her lips. “You her babysitter? Did Sado leave you the money?”

Oikawa blanches. “Money?”

But it doesn’t take him much to put two and two together.

“You…you only visit her for money?”

But you—you have the worst timing ever.

Because you’re standing in the glass doorway of the complex entrance, and you do your best to strain a smile when you swing it open.

“Um, mom, what’re you doing here?”

You throw a glance at your Oikawa, fishing for your wallet, fumbling with the zipper—and quicker than you can move, your mother snatches the bills from you, cradling them like it's some priceless treasure when it's probably only 10,000 yen at most.

Oikawa frowns, realizing she's nowhere close enough sober to explain herself. "She's here for your birthday," he says, sighing. "She wanted to surprise you."

For a while, the three of you just stand there. Waiting for someone to speak up. “So, uh—how’s school?” Mom asks you, and you fiddle with the zipper of your wallet, unsure if the words will break through.

“It’s good,” you decide, a pretty level response all things considered. And when you look up with that same broken smile, Oikawa finds his heart breaking in a whole different way. “Do you want me to call you a cab to the station?”

*

He looks at you after you settle your mom in the front seat of a taxi cab. “Sawa-chan, I—”

“—let’s go,” you say, voice utterly devoid of any emotion, as you watch the car go down the main road towards the train station in Torono Town—somewhere far, far away, _somewhere you’ll never reach her again_.

“Listen, I didn’t know. If I did—"

“I don’t want to think about it,” you say again, voice cracking. “Please.”

You’re pleading with him—he’s never seen you like this. You look utterly broken, as if any wisp of wind can send you hurtling over the edge. He’s afraid to say anything else, afraid to even touch you. “Let’s just go and get this over with," you mutter, and a feeling of dread wedges itself into his chest because he knows what this means.

*

_**“You got me a wall?”** _

**day 355**

You lie down on the floor of your kitchen, staring at the two bottles of cheap wine sitting underneath your dining room table. You sit up, grab the first bottle, and uncap it with a _pop_ and the smell of sour grapes permeates the air thick.

You love it.

 _You adore it_.

Just like your mom.

You breathe in deep, letting the smell consume you. _You’re reverent to it_ , reverent to the way it makes you feel. And when you crane your neck back to stretch it out, you feel a flutter in your stomach. The smell is overwhelming, but fleeting, and it’s enough to make you writhe, but it’s not enough to just inhale. It doesn’t compare to the taste, and at the very thought of having it in your mouth, _in your stomach,_ your jaw clenches.

You crane your neck back again and slam it against the wall.

 _Don’t do it_ , you tell yourself. _Don’t do this_.

The doorbell rings.

You jerk up, hitting your head on the table with a _bang_. Wincing in pain, you let go of the bottle of wine and it goes spilling everywhere, _all across the floor_ , but there’s another ring at the door, and you scramble to your feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt before swinging the door open.

Ushijima.

He’s in his athletic uniform, looking very much unimpressed at the sight of you. “Apologies for being late. Did I miss the party?” And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that _of course he missed the party_ —it was over long before he took off from school.

“Yeah you did,” you tell him. Things are already being boxed up, and the living room’s a mess, but you step aside. “Um, do you wanna come in?”

He looks at you, as if to ascertain the worth of your offer, before nodding and stepping in. Politely, he slips off his shoes and leaves them in a neat stack by the door before following you into the living space, where you bend down to clean up the spilt wine on the floor. “Sorry about the mess,” you tell him. “I, um…to be honest, I didn’t think you would actually come.”

He looks a little different in the confines of your apartment. Then again, so did Oikawa. You only really recognized them in their element, whether it was on a volleyball court, or in the classroom. But here...it's a bit more intimate, a bit more...

“Why would you think that?”

Had it been a year ago, you probably would’ve been pretty flustered. Nervous. Blushing like an idiot. But a lot has changed in a year—and you’re not sure if your feelings for him are even there anymore. It had been somewhat of an impulsive decision to send him an invitation, but you had a new lease on life after _that incident_ : no hesitation, _just go_ , live your truth. It’s the kind of _basic bitch_ thing they’d stamp on a Starbucks mug, but you don’t even really care about being a walking billboard of cliches anymore.

“—I don’t know,” you lean down and start clearing the mess from your floor with a paper towel. “Probably because you’ve rejected me three times?”

He doesn’t smile.

Instead, he rips off a sheet of paper towel from the rack over your sink and helps you clean up the mess from your floor. “You shouldn’t take it personally,” he says.

Before he gets the wrong idea, you interject, “Don’t worry—I’ve already moved past it,” and you laugh, feeling somewhat sheepish talking about these feelings that no longer exist. “I…don’t look at you that way anymore.”

“What way?”

“I don’t… _like_ you like that anymore,” you say, suddenly feeling very much like a teenager, which is technically what you are. “My feelings for you are purely platonic now." It's a pretty ridiculous thing to have to spell it out like this, but you find the more you explain yourself, the more you're sure of yourself too.

“I see.”

Talking to Ushijima is a lesson in sobriety; everything bounces off him like a brick wall, and you’ve learned that being direct with him is the best way forward to avoid any misunderstandings. You wipe away the last of your wine-stained floor and move to boil a kettle of water for tea. He takes the hint and takes a seat at your kotatsu, looking around your apartment like it’s some new labyrinth he’s yet to figure out.

You wait around, leaning against the kitchen counter to look at him. You’re about to ask him about volleyball, but he beats you to the punch. “What are you planning to study in Tokyo?”

Everything about him is curt and clipped and you’ve learned to accept the fact that he’ll always be in a constant state of grilling you when he’s asking a perfectly innocent question. “Math, probably,” you tell him, and he nods, as if he’s digesting your answer through a film of other follow-up questions. “What about you?”

“I’ve yet to decide.” He doesn’t need to tell you volleyball will be his sole focus because you already know. “I always thought you would pursue your dreams of being an artist. Like your father.”

The kettle boils and you make two cups of tea, carrying it over to the kotatsu—only then do you notice how empty your apartment looks without all your stuff in it. You know some part of you will miss it, but the better part of you is screaming to get away. “My…dad is way better than me—art is kind of his arena and I’m just living in it,” you admit, taking a seat adjacent to him. “It would just be a waste of time if I tried to surpass him.”

It’s true.

Your father suffered for his art. He was poor. He grew up with nothing. And though suffering is far from being the hallmark of any great artist, there's no doubt it lends perspective. And maybe more importantly, nuance.

“Hey—can I ask you something?” You say, knowing full well you’ve already asked a question. “You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, but…”

He waits for you to go on.

You decide that’s your cue.

“Was it because I wasn’t good enough for you? Or because I wasn’t serious enough?” You ask. “Is that why you rejected me?”

He looks at you, but you can’t decipher anything from that stone-cold face. “You would’ve been distracting,” he says, and for a moment—you’re hurt by the revelation. That you would’ve been a nuisance to him.

Just like to the others.

Just like Oikawa.

But he lifts his cup to sip his tea. “I wouldn’t have been able to focus on my schoolwork along with volleyball. Coupled with a girlfriend, it would’ve been too much."

And for the record, you’re starting to understand that.

It occurs to you only then that he and Oikawa are one in the same. Except he’s completely upfront with his expectations—completely aware of what he can take on. “That’s too bad,” you say, leaning back, feeling a wash of relief coming over you. “I would’ve been a good girlfriend.” You’re borrowing words from someone else, _someone you once dated_ , but you don’t care.

Because you know now. And it’s freeing. _Liberating_.

The faintest curl of a smile forms on his face as he takes a sip of tea. “I know.” When he puts the cup down, the smile is gone and you have to wonder if it was really there to begin with.

You don’t get the chance because the doorbell rings and you excuse yourself to get it, _wondering of course who it could be at this hour_ , only to see it’s Oikawa standing outside your apartment building. You look at him through the camera of your security system and wonder if it’s a good idea to let him up – _things could get seriously sticky_ – and decide at last that you ought to at least hear him out.

“Do you mind waiting here a minute?” You ask. “I—my friend forgot something in my apartment. I’m just going to bring it down for him.” A white lie, but you figure it’s not worth the hassle of explaining.

Ushijima nods and you take off down the stairs.

*

Oikawa’s waiting for you outside, wearing his track uniform. He’s not smiling—looking very much like a toddler who’s been dragged here against his free will, which, according to the look on Iwaizumi’s face can’t be far off form the truth.

You open the door and put on a cordial smile. “Hey. Party’s over, y’know.” All the while ignoring the very pouty brunette on the left.

“Sorry we’re late. We got caught up at school,” Iwaizumi starts off first, very much the adult of the two. “Just wanted to stop by and say goodbye before you head off to Tokyo.” He motions to Oikawa. “Actually, the dipshit next to me had something he wanted to tell you, so.” He takes a step back, and before you can ask what, he turns his heel and takes off down the main road. "I'll leave you two to it."

Some silence passes and it starts dawning on you that he probably doesn't have much to say to you at all, that this is probably another ruse to get you to talk out your feelings, _whatever the hell that even means_. So you take a breath, ready to relieve him of these duties, "Listen. Oikawa-san, we don't have to--"

"--I miss you."

He meets your gaze, but doesn't take a step closer, as if closing the distance is some unimaginable barrier he can never cross. "I know. I have a girlfriend. You don't have to tell me," and it comes with a half-laugh that sounds bitter and cruel in equal measure. "I just wanted you to know. That's all."

You frown.

Ushijima appears behind you, carrying his bag. “You left your phone in the room. It was ringing,” he says, and you actually take it—look at the screen and your face falls when you see the ID. In fact, it's so distracting that you don't notice Oikawa staring daggers at him.

“Ushiwaka.” He frowns. “So you two—you’re together, huh."

The realization dawns on your face as you look from Ushijima to Oikawa. “No— _no._ That’s not it at all,” you say. “I invited him to my goodbye party—”

“—you said the party was over.”

He’s right.

“It is,” you say softly. “Ushijima-kun and I were just having tea.”

His voice contorts when he hear the suffix— _it turns into something of utter disgust_ as he takes a step back towards the road. “I get it,” he says. “It’s fine—you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“It isn’t what it seems,” Ushijima offers unhelpfully as he takes a step out into the night. “I was simply wishing Sawari-san good luck before she leaves for Tokyo.”

"Of course you were."

But he doesn't believe you.

You're not sure if he ever will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am TIRED but always ready to scream about oikawa on [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/wanderlu5tt) hmu and let's scream together


	6. tell me that we'll be just fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter.... cries...

**Day 424**

“Tooru?”

Oikawa yawns, stretching his limbs by the bench of the rec center, wondering if he has time to visit Shiori tonight.

Her parents aren’t home, her brother just returned to university, and he needs time to decompress. Stress relief, right? It’s not always about exercise and volleyball.

Takeru plucks a volleyball from the rack of balls at the far end of the wall. “I heard someone painted on the wall you bought.”

Again, he yawns, filing through the texts on his phone, scrolling right past your name and the last text you sent him: _what’s the surprise?_ Which might as well be your last correspondence because you’ve since blocked him all points of social media—Facebook, _Instagram_ , even his cell phone number.

(He discovered this one day while trying to reach your voicemail box, if only to listen to the sound of your voice, only to realize he could no longer access it.)

“The one that cost you 30,000 yen,” Takeru goes on, listlessly, tossing the volleyball up in the air only to catch it with both hands. "Grandma says you got ripped off."

Oikawa runs a hand through his hair, feeling every tassel and knot as he relents a sigh. “Let’s talk about something else,” he says, knowing all too well that it’s probably covered in graffiti from the local vandals.

“OK, fine.” Takeru jogs down the court, ducking underneath net, and emerging on the other side with a smile. “But I think it was a painting of you, Tooru. It had your jersey number.”

He stops dead in his tracks.

*

 **Shiori** : Where are you?  
 **Shiori** : I’m worried :(  
 **Shiori** : You said you’d be over an hour ago  
 **Shiori** : Did something happen?  
 **Shiori** : Call me when you get this!  
 **Shiori** : Please :(

*

It takes him some time to cross the thicket. He hasn’t cleaned it up since your birthday, and because your initial reaction had been nothing but distaste and rage, he’d made up his mind to forget about it.

Breaking up is easy, after all, but compromise is hard. _Relationships_ are hard. It’s all rainbows, butterflies and _whimsy_ until it isn’t.

This isn’t his first breakup and he knows it won’t be his last. He’s smart, _athletic_ , and handsome. A carefully curated package that makes him unspeakably desirable, and maybe more importantly, _wanted_.

So when you leave Seijoh, you do it quietly without any fuss or tears, and it surprises him more than he expects. Not that you had any friends around to give a shit, except maybe Iwaizumi and Watari. He’d stopped by your apartment to take stock of your absence, only to realize that a new couple had already moved in.

There was no trace of you left, nothing, not even a footnote in the yearbook. Like a ghost, you departed, and he was left wondering if you were really there at all—if he’d really held you in his arms, if he’d really kissed your lips, if he really touched you. _Smelled_ you. Sometimes he can still find your scent in the air, fruity and light.

As he emerges from the other side of the thicket, he pauses.

Takeru is right.

It’s a painting of him—or at least the back of him. His jersey number is out on full display against the backdrop of the night sky; and it blends in pretty perfectly with the night before him right now. He’s walking towards the stars, the number ‘1’ glowing bright. You’d captured the movement of him bolting forward, the outline a little muddled, a little blurry.

Like all things in life, imperfect.

Like him, imperfect.

And painted underneath in bold white letters:

_I Dreamed of You._

**Day 431**

One day passes—then two. Then a week.

The blare of the truck horn sounds off into the distance as Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa back onto the walking path of the main road. “ _Pay attention_ , dipshit,” he snaps, somewhat disdainfully as he glances over his shoulder at Shiori who’s smiling brightly. “You’re going to get yourself killed in oncoming traffic before regionals.”

“Sorry,” Oikawa looks genuinely apologetic, as he moves his bike along the pathway slowly. “Just have a few things on my mind.”

Shiori bounces forward between them, pouting. “You always have your head in the clouds, Tooru-kun,” she says, her gaze resting on the empty rack behind the bike seat.

Some wheel that’s been spinning in her mind breaks into a sprint and her face blooms with a smile that could sweeten even the most bitter heart. “Maybe you could give me a lift to school? I could ride on the back," she suggests.

But just as she moves back to take a seat on the rack, Oikawa stops her—putting a hand over it. “It’s broken,” he tells her—and the smile on his face is strained and tired. “Sorry, Shiori-chan. Maybe next time.”

He doesn’t mean it.

Iwaizumi glances at the rack of the bike where the ghostly outline of _you_ should’ve been sitting.

Swinging your legs. Laughing. Drinking your canister of coffee and leaning against Oikawa's back like you don't have a single care in the world.

Then he looks back at Shiori, who looks totally taken aback -- he knows she’s not a complete bimbo -- but lets it go just as quickly when she realizes Oikawa won’t budge from his decision.

He senses the tension; he knows what’s going to come next. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, patting Oikawa gently on the shoulder before taking off down the hilltop.

Only when he vanishes into the distance does Oikawa slow his pace to match Shiori—Shiori, who’s still smiling and pretending to be none-the-wiser. “Are you free tonight?” She asks, grinning. “Maybe we could go to the night market?”

When he doesn’t answer immediately, she sounds just a little more desperate. “Or maybe I’ll sit in on your practice again? Do you think Coach Irihata would mind—”

He comes to an abrupt halt, gripping the handles of his bike tighter and tighter until his knuckles fade to white.

He knows it’s selfish— _stupid_ , almost.

After all, she’s just another girl who’s gotten caught in the crossfire of his indecision.

“I think we should end this, Shiori-chan,” he says.

It’s clockwork—as he watches her fall apart into a million pieces before him. The tears start streaming, she’s sobbing, crying so hard she can barely breathe.

He knows.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her—but it’s meaningless, and before he can say more, she runs off down the road, past the cars, past the sea of faces until she’s no longer in sight.

**Day 440**

You’re gone.

Your desk is empty, and so is your locker. It feels like you’ve died, even as he tries to unearth whatever he can salvage of you—the extra hairclips in your locker, the empty pens you left behind, even the old workbooks you used that they’d tried to throw away. It was trash to them, garbage from a time lost, but it was a treasure for him. Everything you ever touched was a treasure for him.

He rides over to the nursing home in Torono Town on his day off from practice. It surprises even him, he thinks, that the itch of you has yet to fade. That he's made up his mind. _That he's sure of this_.

He decides he'll ask grandpa about where you’re living, what classes you’re taking, the foods you like. You like home-cooked food— _you missed home-cooked food,_ and he'll make you home-cooked food if it means he can see you smile one more time.

See? He’s remembered that much and that has to count for something, right?

Even as he greets the nurses, he can see you asking them questions about their kids. How they’re doing. How their day is. He can see you smile their way, thank them for their work, and greet the other grandmas in the common living area before turning back to him with your hand outstretched. _Let's go,_ you'd say. _Together_.

It feels a little lonelier now as he comes into grandpa’s room—only to realize someone has already beaten him to the punch.

There’s a handsome middle-age man in a button-up with arms full of tattoos. His hair’s long, pulled into a ponytail, and he looks suspiciously cool—like an old-school yakuza bad-boy turned good. Next to him is a woman in a full-length pantsuit that looks freshly pressed, like she just stepped off the runway of the financial district in Ginza.

“You haven’t changed at all, Ogata,” grandpa hisses. “Your daughter gets kicked out of school, moves to Tokyo _by herself_ , and you can’t spare even a day to visit. You’ve no idea what kind of hell she’s been through, what she’s left—and now you’re meaning to tell me you’re leaving _tomorrow_?”

The man called Ogata spares his secretary a sideways glance. “Wait outside, Aoi.”

She bows before turning to leave, only to catch Oikawa in the hallway. She doesn't say much, just looks at him and smiles.

"You think this shit comes free? These apartments? _This nursing home?"_

“ _Don’t bullshit me—_ money hasn’t been a problem in years,” grandpa seethes, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turn white. “Always using that shit as an excuse to be on the road, _always using that as an excuse to disregard any responsibility_ you have at home. Leaving your daughter to fend for herself. It's shameful.”

Ogata rolls his eyes. “You can complain all you want,” he states, somewhat acidly, scratching the back of his ear like he doesn’t give a damn. "But I'm on the first flight out tomorrow morning."

But all Oikawa can think about is you— _you_ returning home to a quiet apartment after school.

You, eating takeout alone in that sad little kitchenette that’s never touched.

You, smiling and laughing with grandpa, pretending like nothing’s wrong.

“I think Sawa-chan would appreciate it if you visited her at school,” Oikawa states with a smile, strained and bruised like he’s been through a battering ram. He remembers to bow, if only a little, to show some sign that he’s remembered his pleasantries. “I know she’s really missed you.”

Ogata sneers at him. “Who’s the kid?”

Grandpa nearly snorts at the sight of him, though the faintest smile cracks through that cold exterior too. “Setsuna’s boyfriend,” he replies with eyes half-lidded.

Oikawa’s about to correct him -- _ex-boyfriend is more apt_ \-- but he decides to bite his tongue. It’s not the right time, and with that look of utter disdain on Ogata’s face, he’s almost sure he has something more to offer.

“Boyfriend, huh,” he states tartly, glancing at his watch—a goddamn Rolex because of course it is. "That's new."

“You don’t give a shit she has a boyfriend,” grandpa snarls—and that initial wave of anger fades into something hurt, something delicate, like the last bastion of life in him has waned and vanished. “You didn’t care when she got a tattoo. You didn’t care when she got into Tokyo. _You_ …”

Ogata smiles politely, looking Oikawa’s way with a smile so charming that it could’ve fooled him otherwise. “ _You_ —boyfriend, right? Send Setsuna my regards will you?” Then he nods at Aoi. “Call us a cab for us.”

Oikawa can’t be sure what compels him to do it.

The moment feels short, like if he doesn’t seize it now it’ll pass and he'll regret it forever. It's a moment he recognizes with startling clarity.

Because there’s so much he wants to say— _Sawa-chan_ loves you; Sawa-chan admires you; Sawa-chan only ever wanted to make you proud.

Sawa just wanted to see you.

But as his fist flies across Ogata’s face, the only thing he can think about is you eating dinner alone in that sad little one-bedroom apartment in Torono Town.

**Day 154**

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

You laugh, almost sweetly, taking a seat on the edge of your mattress. “ _Are you_? You keep asking the same question.” Some semblance of shame forms on your face as you hug your knees to your chest.

He leans in, one knee on the mattress, and presses a kiss to your forehead that eventually devolves into kisses all over your face—slobbering wet like a dog. You laugh, pushing him away, but he crushes you into the bed with a hug, holding you so tightly all you can do is laugh and cry.

And then he interrupts your laugh with another kiss—this time deep and probing until you’re melting into him, pulling him closer, the heat generated between you so warm that he’s sweating.

Oikawa’s no virgin, so it undercuts any of the tension that might’ve been a problem. As he starts stripping, your gaze falls on his chest—his arms. They’re toned and lean, and you realize he’s bigger underneath all those layers. “Like what you see?” He says, and you blush—you _actually_ blush.

“You truly say the lamest things,” you tell him with absolutely no resolve as his fingers meander towards the hem of your t-shirt.

He helps unclothe you, slowly, as he starts studying the curve of your breasts, and the dip of your hips—how soft you look before him. He can feel the blood rush to his face as he catches the blush on your face, the way you’re trying to cover what little bit dignity you have left in your undergarments.

He’s never seen you like this, so shy and pleading, and he thinks he must be the luckiest guy in the world because _he’s the only guy in the world right now who gets to see you like this_.

He always thought the pleasure of sex was greatly distorted. All those books and movies had romanticized the act to ridiculous proportions. _Fucking_ , he thought, was completely glorified for something that wasn’t so complicated at all.

“Slow, OK?” You say softly, undoing the strap of your bra before moving to tug away your underwear.

But.

There’s a strange vacancy in your face now that you’re completely naked before him and he decides he wants to learn all your little, dark idiosyncrasies. He wants to know exactly what makes you groan, _what makes you tick_ , and what makes you beg.

The adrenaline is coursing through him fast and he can feel the beat of his heart, the throb of his cock pressing hard against his briefs.

You’re the first to break the silence, climbing onto his lap, your hands draping over his shoulders in a hug. “I’m scared,” you whisper and when you pull back, he reaches up gently to brush a lock of hair away from your face.

It’s startling, of course, how small you are in his grasp.

Hesitantly, you place a palm against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats underneath skin; and when you put a hand against yours, a small smile forms on your face like you’ve discovered a treasure only you can see.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you.

You blink, but this time you lean in and kiss him first, your hand winding through his hair as you pull him closer—and closer.

It’s intoxicating, he thinks, and as he deepens the kiss, he lets himself collapse and let go.

*

For a while, you lie in bed next to each other, utterly naked.

Until you get up first to clean yourself off.

Oikawa sits up just as fast, feeling the warmth of your side of the bed fade. “Did it hurt?”

You grab your button up and slip it on, shielding your nakedness as you make your way towards the bathroom. “Not really,” you tell him. “I think I was just…nervous.”

Somewhere inside, he feels his stomach turn. “And did you—…did you—”

“No,” you say, smiling. “I think I was close though.”

“Oh.” Again, his stomach turns, and when you make your way over, one hand outstretched, it’s with a smile that washes away any worries he might’ve initially had. “C’mon—let’s go, Tooru.”

*

You take him to the air and space museum near the docks of Torono Town, much to his surprise. He’d been here as a kid -- well, truthfully, it’s a facility meant for elementary school students -- but he’d all but forgotten its existence until, well, _now_.

“Happy birthday nerd,” you tell him, motioning to the entrance, covered in sticky-notes from kids who’ve been there before.

He’ll never know when you figured out his obsession with space travel, as he steps into the air-conditioned lobby between the automatic doors. Truthfully, he’s not sure he’s ever mentioned to you before. He just knows, as he studies the smile on your face, that he might be really falling for you.

*

You peruse the facilities with him at a leisurely pace, pretending to be interested as he recites the constellations on the wall and the model spaceships on display from the 1960s. When he climbs into the pilot’s chamber, you take a photo for him and laugh at the face he makes because he looks genuinely in awe.

 _Happy_.

He tells you the things he’s learned about space travel, useless information he’s accumulated out of pure obsession and nothing more. It’s a half-measure, but you smile, listening because you love the face makes when you tell him _I didn’t know that_ or _oh, that’s interesting_.

“You know, if you put half the effort you did into your studies, you probably wouldn’t have failed calculus,” you tell him, sighing.

“It was one test,” he moans, hanging his head low. “When are you going to let that go?”

You beam, tugging him towards the far end of the hall, where there’s a beat-up looking dome. “Never. "

"Sawa-chan--"

"‘Cause we never would've met if you hadn't failed."

He blinks.

You drag him into an over-glorified darkroom titled _the galactic hall_. You make your way towards the front, where there’s a railing to hang onto, and he follows you from behind, his arms coming around you to hang onto the railing as the lights begin to dim. It’s a bit kitschy, but he knows it’s the kind of thing you’d secretly enjoy.

You crane your neck back against his shoulder and he gets a whiff of your shampoo again—pleasantly sweet.

Artificial white lights blink from the obscurity— _stars_. There’s a flash of purple haze that fades, another flash of indigo, and a crackle of thunder that lights up the room for a fleeting second.

Billions of years ago, the stars were born. Blaring— _screaming_ to explode. A family of supernovas, a burst of light, thunderstorms caught inside the deepest confines of space, threatening to burst at the seams. Spontaneous combustions, happenstance—

Then, the universe.

The earth.

Life.

 _You_.

“I love you,” you tell him, as the stars hurtle forward into oblivion and dust.

Oikawa tucks his chin against your shoulder, holding you tighter. He doesn’t want this moment to pass—doesn’t want to let you go.

“I love you too,” he says, but it doesn’t cut it— _I love you_ can’t begin to explain the depths of what he feels.

 _I_ _love you more than you know;_ I love you forever; I love you, I love you, I love you, _infinitely_ , always.

**Day 441**

Tokyo’s a different world—a _new_ world.

It doesn’t take you long to get past the novelty of having a convenience store by your dorm. And having a bar scene one station away. And having friends who know more about the city than you do. Akihabara, Ginza, and Shibuya are all within reach: the world is _your oyster_ , and though the feeling is fresh, it’s not enough.

So you decide you’re going to submit your work to a regional art show at the college of design downtown. It’s a spontaneous decision, born from impulsiveness and _wanting_ , but it’s worth the hassle because it fills your hands with something else to do besides your grades, your schoolwork, and your…breakup.

And the days pass slowly at first because you’re quite literally working with a blank slate. You know the other students have been working on their collection forever; they have their set styles, a unique eye that made them, well, _apply for the show_ the first place. So it takes time for you to figure something out.

You decide to do a series of oil paintings on Miyagi.

And though it isn’t easy at first -- truth is, you’re _rusty_ \-- but you quickly come to adore it, losing yourself in the work. For a while, nothing else really matters because you’re doing something you love. Because it’s a time for forgetting and more importantly a time for healing. And art is...shockingly healing. Everything about it keeps you wanting to improve because you know you can do better. _You have to do better_.

You invite nearly everyone you know.

Your old friends from Miyagi who stuck around. You invite your father—even though you know he’s probably already left for Paris. You don’t actually expect any of them to show up, especially the ones who have to take the bullet train, so you decide to keep your expectations tempered.

You even decide to unblock Oikawa and invite him too—but you convince yourself it’s out of politeness.

*

 **you** : oikawa-san, I know this is last minute but I’m having an art show today in Tokyo. I’d appreciate it if you stopped by but if you can’t, that’s ok too. :)

*

The gallery begins to fill at 3pm with families and friends—but you’re still waiting alone underneath your collection of oil paintings.

The guy next to you has a collection of digital mecha art while the girl on the his right has a series of abstract impressionist paintings of naked ladies on the stoops of their New York brownstones. You look at them, fiddle with your fingers, and start wondering if this is a bad idea.

A bad idea because your stuff isn’t nearly as good—your composition sucks, your linework is sloppy, and your art style isn’t cohesive. Your collection is almost _too simple_ : an introspective series of life in Miyagi. Most of it is abstract, and none of the scenery is identifiable, and the only thing you can recognize are the sea of faces passing by—familiar and warm. The gears that keep the prefecture moving. It’s full of love, full of adoration and charm, but it’s not enough.

You _know_ it’s not enough.

Kuroo waltzes in through the entryway in his school uniform, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face as he lifts a grocery bag in the air. “Oi!”

He grins when he catches your gaze and does a little jog towards your collection while the other students watch him in awe. _He’s startlingly tall_ and looks like an athlete in every sense of the word, and by the time he makes his way over you smile. “I can’t believe you came,” you say, somewhat dumbfoundedly. “Th— _thank you_.”

He laughs, “No need to be so formal,” he tells you. “Anyway, I brought pork buns! I thought you might be hungry.”

You _are_ hungry, and your eyes nearly fill with tears as you catch sight of Kenma filtering in from behind, apparently very into the mecha art collection in the set-up next to yours. “I don’t think you’re supposed to bring food into the art hall,” you tell him sheepishly. “But I really—"

You stop short when you recognize a very familiar looking man covered in tattoos stepping through the entryway.

Whatever talk had filled the hall earlier comes to an abrupt hall as everyone looks his way.

_"Is that Ogata?"_

“Dad?”

Kuroo glances over his shoulder, takes the hint, and dismisses himself to the side with Kenma, who’s still staring at the mecha art. “How much for this,” he says, pointing to the biggest one of them all.

“Um, it's... not for sale.”

Suddenly very conscious of the way you look, you brush a lock of hair behind your ear and bow low, smiling at Aoi who’s following him close from behind. “Aoi-san,” you greet her with a smile. "D-dad..."

He's wearing a half-grin on his face as he moves towards your work, but you’re still slackjawed, staring at the very apparent bruise on the side of his face that looks fresh and…utterly garish. “Hm.”

He’s always cut to the chase, studying your work with a cocked gaze, moving through each painting like he’s reading the pages of the newspaper. It’s a look filled with disapproval, even with that sad little smile. “There’s no perspective here—no cohesion. What’re you trying to say, Setsuna?”

“I—” But you stop short again, staring at the bruise on his face. “What happened to you, dad?”

He grins. “An accident, if you can believe it.”

“And accident?" You blink. "I thought you left yesterday after visiting grandpa. I thought—"

Aoi gives you a look and shakes her head. “Your father decided to stay a few days to take care of personal things,” she tells you, and for whatever reason, you decide to believe her.

“Let’s get some dinner after you’re done with your show,” dad says, smiling at you. “I’m sure you have friends waiting to greet you.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you nod—almost too eagerly.

*

“Aoi and I are getting married next year,” dad says.

You blink, mouth full of omurice and sake. “R— _really_?” When you look at her finger, you notice the rock, and suddenly everything is beginning to make sense. “That’s amazing! Oh my goodness. I— _can I be a bridesmaid?”_

Aoi blushes, “Of course. You’ll have to bring a date too.” She exchanges a knowing glance with dad, and he nods.

“Speaking of date…this boyfriend of yours—”

“Boyfriend?”

Dad snorts. “You don’t need to hide it anymore. Grandpa told me everything.”

Still, you’re trying to process this. Process this, and the bruise on his face. _Boyfriend._ Grandpa has only ever met one of your boyfriends, which means...

*

 **oikawa** : I just want you to know your dad came at me first

You smile, willowing outside the entryway of your apartment complex before whipping up a response. _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ , you write, slipping the key in, turning the lock, and opening the door—

“Ta-da!”

Naturally, you shriek and hurl your keys at the source of the sound, only to realize it’s Oikawa.

" _Oi_ \--" He just barely ducks out of the way. "That was dangerous!"

Your entire dining table is filled with familiar, home-cooked food.

“H— _how the hell did you get in here_ ,” you screech, dropping all your bags to the floor before storming into the dining room. “Who the hell let you in."

Oikawa just grins at you, “You’d be surprised how generous grandpa can be.”

But before he gets a chance to explain himself, you snake your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest, trying desperately not to cry. “I can’t believe you punched my dad,” you say, voice muffled in cloth. “I can’t believe—”

“ _Sawa-chan_ —”

“Please shut up,” you sigh, contentedly. “Just let me have this moment, alright? You’re warm…and soft, and I really, _really_ missed you.”

“Soft?” Oikawa stutters, his arms settling around your shoulders. “I’ll have you know I’m a _serious_ athlete.”

Still, you smile.

Sometimes it's the little things.

*

You kiss him, deeply—and he devours you just as fast, hands squeezing your ass as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. You taste like sweet desperation, so warm and insatiable. This must be a dream, a lucid one at least, and everything about it is so wet and urgent that he barely remembers when you get him out of his shirt—when he lifts you up by the legs and drop you in your bed.

The way his fingers clench when he rips off your underwear. The way he goes down on you, making you shudder, _whine_ , and hold your breath at the same time. The way he comes inside you in one thick thrust that has you trembling.

It’s probably the most beautiful moment he’s had in a long time.

As he lays next to you in bed, he knows one thing—he loves you. For what it’s worth, he always has. It’s not perfect, and it won’t be easy, but it’s true. _Maybe it’s the only thing he knows to be true now_.

"When did you paint it?" He asks. "The wall."

You smile, lowering your gaze to his chest, brushing your palm against it, feeling the stiffness of his muscle against your skin. "After you defeated Karasuno," you tell him.

"You were there?"

"Of course I was there." Goosebumps raise on your arms as he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "I know you said you didn't want me to go. I didn't want to distract you, but... I couldn't help myself."

He looks at you, cocks a brow. "I'm not surprised. I'm pretty hard to resist, y'know."

You roll your eyes. "You're so corny."

He looks hurt and when you laugh, he pounces to hug you, even as you try to wrangle out of his grasp. He's pure muscle and you're small and soft and you're not even close to tugging away, but you're laughing, crying his name, and when he finally lets you go, you've have tears of laughter streaming down your face.

"What do _you_ dream about?" You ask him, watching him trace his fingers against the curve of your neck. "Since you made it your mission to grill me so hard, it's only fair that you tell me."

He rolls onto his back, sighing. "What else?" 

He doesn't need to say it aloud.

 _Volleyball_.

"You're going to graduate soon," you say, linking your fingers with his. "Have you given any thought to Argentina?"

He lowers his gaze. "Yeah." He decides not to bullshit you this time.

“We’ll be OK, right?” You say, softly, curling into his arm.

He kisses you on the forehead and forces a smile. “Of course.”

Between you two, you’re the only one who believes it.


	7. i'm the one who burned us down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa shows up at your father's wedding with flowers and you show up with Ushijima.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONEEEEEEEEEEE omg

**Day 644**

The izakaya is jam-packed with after-hour college club attendees. Drinking beer, ordering second, _third_ —fourth rounds of kushiyaki, smoking their cigarettes like they’re going out of style.

For what it’s worth, you’re one of them.

But you’re also miraculously the only one sober, staring into the deep abyss of students gathered around you at the long table in the center of the room, wondering how it is you can be surrounded yet still feel so utterly alone.

One of them stands up to pour you a drink, but your cup is already filled with the last drink you never touched. “Sawari-san, you’re not going to drink with us?” They ask, and— _no_. You’re not. But you’ve had this conversation at least three times since you’ve sat down. And you're starting to understand they're not in the right state of mind to remember.

But that's OK. You’re not here to remind them.

You’re here to get laid.

You’re dressed to kill—in a halter top that reeks of desperation and a leather miniskirt that leaves way too little for the imagination. Yes, you’re dressed to kill, but you’re also dressed completely unlike yourself because you’re trying hard _not_ to be yourself tonight. And it takes a shocking amount of energy for you to play along because _it’s not you at all_. You’re pretending to be someone else, someone less uptight, someone more bearable, _someone who’s always down_.

Because fuck the straight-laced, straight-A, good-girl thing you have going on.

It never got you anywhere anyway.

So yes, when you flirt with the guy sitting next to you—scoping out the options at the table—you do it with little remorse. _Yes_ , with a couple drinks in him, you’re going to tell him how much you like his hair, how much you want to get to know him, and how much you’ve admired him in class. (And then you’re going to ask him to take you home and get laid.)

You’re attractive, you’re young, you’re legal—there’s literally nothing stopping you.

He—Haru—keeps the drinks coming. The life of the party, through and through. But you don’t take a single sip (you think, only then, how much easier it would’ve been if you were drunk), leaning just a little bit closer until the space between you closes and his hand’s on your thigh, his breath’s hot against your neck, and he’s leaning in to whisper something soft in your ear, only to accidentally brush his lips against the patch of skin behind it instead.

And then the door opens, bell ringing as a group of young men in tracksuits come sauntering in.

 _A whole_ line of men at least six feet tall—and among them, one face you could never miss in a crowd.

“Sawari-san?”

Ah, shit.

Ushijima strolls in through the front door dressed in—what else—his uniform. His team members head off to the back, looking for a table to sit, but he comes straight towards you as soon as he recognizes your face.

The very act of looking at him is enough to make you straighten your spine, brush away the hand on your thigh, and stand to meet him as he sizes you up. _As he sizes up the guy next to you_ —Haru, right? You think that’s his name. (You wouldn't remember.)

You nearly topple over the table, kicking the corner with your toe, but he catches you by the arm—and he’s strong enough to pull you back onto even ground, which is somehow more humiliating than just flat out falling in front of him.

“Hi--um,” you start stumbling over words right out the gate, _and get a load of the look on his face_. Completely unremorseful, like he’s looking at you with disdain and pity. Which might’ve offended you once upon a time, but hey, _you’re a different person now_. You’ve done enough growing to know it means nothing. “What a coincidence—running into you here! It's been a while, hasn't it? How--"

“What’re you doing?” He asks, cold and clinical—straight to the point to the surprise of absolutely no one, though you have to wonder why he sounds so much like a father reprimanding his daughter. He looks at Haru, who seems to notice something’s up. “Where’s Oikawa?”

And for whatever reason, it’s enough to make you reconsider. You try to push past him towards the door, but he grabs you by the arm. “ _What are you doing?”_ He says again, as if repeating the question will do you any good. “You have a _boyfriend_.”

You rip your arm away from him, “We're not together anymore."

**Day 500**

It’s easy, at first.

You’re twelve hours ahead of him, so you leave him good morning and good night texts at 9pm and 9am. You leave him emails telling him how class is going, _how your dad is doing_ , and attach them with PNGs of whatever art piece you’re working on so he gets a little sense of how things look like at home. You leave him voice notes telling him how much you love him, how much you miss him, and how much you want to see him because being cheesy is a better alternative than acting like it doesn't bother you at all.

A thousand miles of distance away, and all you can think about is when you're going to receive your next text from him.

He does his best to respond.

His beater phone has shitty reception, so when you do receive a message from him it’s terse and short— _have a good day_ ; _have you eaten?; you sound happy_. Every time you receive a new notification, you get a flutter in your stomach that feels very much like something is beating the shit of your abdomen.

But more often than not, they’re messages from your friends. _Classmates asking about whatever assignment you’re working on_. They’re from dad, who’s asking you how you’re doing. Even grandpa, who's sulking in Miyagi, has learned how to send you emails.

So Oikawa's messages come more and more infrequently, but that's OK--because he's off chasing his dreams while you're stuck in Tokyo thinking about when the next time you're going to see him is.

 **you** : can we talk on the phone soon?  
**you** : i miss your voice  
**you** : this isn’t me being sappy ok  
**you** : i really mean it

Maybe you're being needy.

Still.

You fall asleep, clutching your phone to your chest, praying for a vibration that never comes.

*

Until next morning.

 **oikawa** : ugh i fell asleep  
**oikawa** : practice was brutal  
**oikawa** : let’s talk tonight  
**oikawa** : u free?

 **you** : yes please :)

**Day 644**

For once, Ushijima doesn’t look miraculously disappointed in you. Just curious and inquisitive. Which might be somehow more humiliating.

Haru calls out your name, but Ushijima meets his gaze with a glare so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Eat with me,” he states, and apparently you don’t even get a say because he drags you straight through the aisle, past the other club tables, right to the back where his team is sitting while Haru is left hanging.

You’re shoved into one of the empty booths, and you can feel the eyes of one of his teammates with a weird half-golden dye-job on you as he peers over his seat at you two. “Oi, _oi_ —didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” he says, and it’s enough to elicit a glare from Ushijima, who takes the seat across from you and untucks a menu from the divider by the window while you sit there like a kid in timeout waiting for him to say something first.

“We’re friends,” he states. “She's a classmate from high school."

“Oh? Sort of like high school sweethearts.” The guy reaches a hand out. “I’m Atsumu."

“Sawari Setsuna,” you say, ignoring his offer and his quip. “I should return to my seat,” you tack on, but the look Ushijima offers you is utterly mirthless and you can’t help but gulp down your last bastion of courage as you look over at the long table to see Haru—who’s apparently stumbled to his feet to meet you.

He hasn't quite given up, stumbling into your booth and draping one arm around your shoulder, “Setsuna-chan, you know you look really pretty tonight?" He says, grinning. "Do I need to rescue you?" Oh, he has no idea. _He has no idea how in the wrong he is_.

You just lower your gaze, feeling his breath hot against your cheek.

Ushijima stands—no, he _towers_ over him. Just looks at him with a gaze so cold that it’s enough to make Haru immediately retract his hands from your skin.

“Is there a problem?”

“N—no,” he stammers, taking a step back, unroping his arm around your neck, “No problem at all,” he says again, and you have to breathe a sigh of relief when he takes off towards the club tables because under the light of the dining table, he looks a lot less handsome than you thought.

And yet.

“Why’d you do that,” you mutter. “He was going to take me home.”

Ushijima peers at you over the menu.

“I’ll take you home.”

Oh. It's that simple, huh.

Truthfully, you're somewhat grateful you ran into him. It must be some gesture of faith from the gods above for screwing you over and over, but you decide not to voice that sentiment aloud as you study him from across the table.

Handsome, keen, sturdy. _He looks like he's put on a few inches_ since you last saw him.

"You're staring," he states.

Very unobviously, you look away, arms still crossed over your chest like you have something to prove, which is technically nothing.

So you decide, after taking a breath, to meet his gaze when he tucks away the menu, ready to order.

"I have a question," you say, and he listens, eyes half-lidded. "When you said I would've been a distraction, what did you mean?"

**Day 580**

The call from Oikawa never comes.

You're staring at your phone like it’s the only bastion of sanity you might have left in this otherwise ridiculously unfair world. You'd woken up at 6am, at the crack of dawn, because you figure you have classes—and he needs the rest. 6pm should be a convenient time for him in Argentina—right?

But 6am turns into 6:05am, which turns into 6:10am. When you don’t get a call by 6:15am, you pull up his number and dial.

No one picks up.

You call him three times before you realize he’s probably forgotten.

It's anger that beseeches you at first, then longing, then that longing devolves into something of despair as you take a breath, hop onto your laptop, and start searching up flights to Argentina.

**Day 644**

"I meant exactly what I said," he tells you. "I wouldn't have been able to split my time between you, volleyball, and schoolwork."

Oh.

But it hits a little differently now that you're a bit older, _now that you're wiser too_.

"It wouldn't have been fair to you." He looks stiff, perhaps a bit uncomfortable. "But now that I've graduated, I no longer need to factor schoolwork into the equation."

You blink.

He takes a sip of his tea before calling over the waiter, "Are you still hungry?"

Slowly, you nod.

*

Ushijima doesn't take you home gently: he basically drags you to your apartment.

The very thought of being alone is enough to send you into a crippling depression. Because when you're alone, all you can think about is how you left things, _how you're by yourself_ , and the fact that you have no one to turn to. So you'd spend the majority of your commute strolling at a leisurely pace until Ushijima realized exactly what you were doing.

Hence, the dragging.

"This is me," you say, stopping at the entrance of a quiet apartment complex.

He halts, looking up at your building before glancing at his watch, "Then I'll get going."

"Um, can you come up?" You ask, quietly. "I...get kind of scared when I'm alone."

He looks at you, nods, and follows you in through the front door as you lead him up the stairwell to the second floor, where your apartment sits at the hallway's end. You scramble for your keys in your bag, fumble with the lock, and open the door. But he stays in the frame, looking at you, as if assessing the condition of your mental state before taking a step in.

As soon as the door closes behind him, you lean up to swipe a kiss from his lips--but he puts his hands on your shoulders.

"I want to do this right,” he tells you, and though you can’t quite digest what that means, you instinctively understand because of the steel-winged butterflies in your stomach.

Your heart’s beating so fast you swear it’s doing backflips in your ribcage, and yet you can’t stop looking at him.

“Will you stay over tonight?” You ask, but your voice is so soft—it’s hardly a whisper. “We don’t have to do anything…” You’re staring at him in all the wrong ways, and apparently he’s very aware of this fact because his face is filled with resistance, perhaps longing. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Apparently you’ve said the right thing because he reaches out to brush a single lock of hair behind your ear, “OK.”

“Um.” You glance at your bedroom, then at the couch. “I know we went over this, but."

“But?"

“What we talked about before..." You start fumbling through your recollection of the night, trying to ignore how handsome he looked in the izakaya just _sitting_ there.

"Does that mean I have a chance?"

**Day 582**

Oikawa meets you at the airport and you nearly burst at the sight of him when you go through the gates. He shoves past the crowd, meeting you outside the doors to wrap you in a hug so tight you can barely breathe, “I’ve missed you, Sawa-chan,” he murmurs. “So, so, so, so much. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

When you pull back, it’s with a smile, “I’ve missed you too.”

The rest of the day goes by in the blur because he's kissing you, calling a cab to take you to your hotel, and when you fuck it's desperate, hot, and fast because both of you need release in ways you can't quite explain. Both of you are searching for something you can't quite seize, and everything gets sticky and sweaty, so much so that it feels like an actual work out.

"I've missed you so much," you whisper, curling into his arms after the post-coitus haze of butterflies has waned. "More than you know."

"Me too," he murmurs.

He runs his fingers through your hair, pressing kiss after kiss against your forehead until he gets a buzz on his phone that has him perk up from bed.

You observe him from a distance, admiring how much more toned he's become since he's been in Argentina. His arms are a good deal thicker, so are his shoulders--his thighs. He's like a different person, yet somehow exactly the same. In perpetuity.

"Ah, crap," he mutters into the receiver. He mutters a couple more words in English that you recognize but eventually says goodbye and hangs up. "Sawa-chan--ah. _Crap_. Bad news first or good news?"

"Um," you immediately feel your stomach drop as you sit up in bed. "Bad news."

"We're going to Brazil this weekend," he says.

"W--what?"

"It slipped my mind," he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed to face you. "I'm so sorry. Seriously, I'll make it up to you when we get there."

"We?"

"Yeah! That's the good news. We’re going to Brazil this weekend—but you can come with us, can’t you?” He beams. "We can explore it together--you and me. It'd be my first time there too, so we can discover the city at our own leisure. Isn't that romantic?"

“I traveled 20 hours to be here,” you say, and from the pout of on his face, you immediately relent. "Um, I'd have to pack my bags." Which is an annoying thought, since you literally just finished unpacking all your belongings thinking you'd be in Argentina for the next week. "I'll, um...I'll meet you later tonight after practice, alright?"

He presses a kiss to your temple, "I love you. You're the best."

**Day 644**

Ushijima's fast asleep on your pull-out couch, and for a while, you hover.

He sleeps like a corpse, completely unmoving. Completely silent. You literally bend over and feel if he's breathing because you're afraid he might've died in his sleep, but alas, he is alive and well. 

He's the quietest sleeper you've ever met.

"What're you doing?"

His voice startles you--and immediately you're on edge, feeling all the blood rush to your face as you take a seat on the edge of the bed. It's softer than yours, maybe a bit less comfortable. "I can't sleep," you say, softly.

He turns on his side, spilling open the blankets.

Oh, an invitation?

You don't pass it up, crawling into the sheets until you're buried in the space next to him, just short of touching his shoulder. His eyes are sleepy, half-lidded like he's fighting the urge to pass out, but he never quite takes his gaze off of you as you nudge a little closer and closer--

Slowly, you lean in—but he’s the one who closes the distance, lips pressing against yours.

The kiss is so short, so sweet, that when your eyes flutter open, you see that his eyes are still closed. You smile a little, but you feel his hands curl in your hair, pulling you into a deeper kiss this time—a deeper kiss that has you parting your lips, longing and warm as his tongue swirls gently in your mouth.

Your hands instinctively flit to his chest—hard and chiseled. _Of course it is_. Even as the kiss get greedier, you never feel like you’re losing control.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks, pulling away.

You answer by straddling him, all caution thrown to the wind as you press your lips against his again.

His hands fall to the dip in your waist, playing with the hem of your silk pajamas. His fingers are warm, and the contact he makes with your skin has you shivering.

And then it stops. He has one arm around your hip and flips you onto your back—gently. _Slowly_. He’s on top of you, breath hot against your cheek, pressing kisses across your face while unfastening the buttons of your pajama top—your breasts spilling out. His hands are warm, and all you can do is melt under his touch as his kisses get lower, _and lower_ , and lower, until—

He reaches the hem of your pajama shorts, tugging them down until he sees you’re not wearing any underwear underneath.

“Ushi—”

“Do you trust me?”

You nod almost too eagerly, and nearly moan when he slips a single finger inside you—curling up so tight your eyes nearly well up with tears.

The wetness of his tongue closes around you and suddenly you’re writhing underneath him, legs quivering as he starts lapping you up slowly. “ _God_ , Ushi—” But whatever you’re trying to tell him morphs into some pathetic and desperate moan as he starts fingering you.

He looks up at you, studying you with that emotionless gaze that speaks to nothing at all, even as his finger continues curling up inside you. The slurping and sucking he does little to help as he stretches you slowly, working at a gentle pace until he’s knuckle-deep. You keep moaning his name, but you’re so touch-starved that you’re already at the breaking point.

The itch is building fast, embarrassingly so, and when he curls another finger inside you, everything falls apart—a white hot adrenaline rush that has you tangling your fingers through his hair. You moan his name, accidentally scraping his scalp with your nails, but he doesn’t stop—helping you ride your orgasm, wave after wave, pleasure after pleasure, until you’re utterly faded in the afterglow.

“We should stop,” he says, wiping away your slick from his mouth. “I don’t think you can take me.” And he's totally serious (of course he is).

But you grab him by the wrist before he can get too far, looking at him with a pair of eyes so pleading it immediately absolves him of whatever guilty conscience he has. “Please don’t,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of his boxer briefs to help him unclothe.

He’s _hung_ , for what it’s worth, and forget being besotted by his dick—he’s apparently not even aware of how pretty it is. _Nice flared head_ , just thick enough to make you gulp.

He settles between your legs, stroking his erection while he lines up with your entrance. You’re excited—truthfully, you’ve fantasized about this for a long time—and when he starts pushing himself inside you, you freeze.

 _Y_ _ou tense up_ , wrapping your legs instinctively around his waist. _Closing your eyes and bearing with the pain_. “You’re tight,” he states, stoic as ever as he comes to a stop halfway inside you. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m OK,” you murmur softly, _even though you’re not._ How unfair is this? You’re totally lubed up from your own cum and the tension’s still there. “I’m fine—I don’t want to stop,” you say, but he doesn’t look relieved. “ _Please_.”

Slowly, he moves another inch in--and when you look down to see just how much you’re tangled up inside one another, a shiver comes down your spine. You can tell it takes him a substantial amount of effort not to just pound into you like a battering ram. “We’re going slower next time,” he says, and your heart nearly swoons at the expectation of a next time—because you don’t want this to be your first and last with him.

And then you realize he’s inside you. Completely. The pain’s stopped and all you can do is clench on for dear life as he leans over you, lips brushing against your collarbone before meeting your mouth in another longing kiss that tastes more like desperation and hot fervor. He’s impossibly warm, so much so that when he angles his hips against yours, thrusting gently inside you, you rake your nails against his back and arch your back.

The rush of pleasure has you bursting, _so wet—so hot,_ and he takes the moans you offer him as consent as he continues burying himself inside you, _harder and harder_ , grunting softly.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you whine as he nips at your neck. “ _Pleas_ e, I’m gonna—”

It comes faster than you can digest it—a slower orgasm, one that spirals from the core of your abdomen into your fingertips. The rush of wetness between your legs has him pumping in and out of you faster and faster, driving you through your second orgasm until he grunts, softly—cock twitching as his cum starts spilling inside you.

When he pulls out, he sees a pearl of his cum trickling out your center, and the sight is enough to elicit a soft grunt as he collapses into the bed next to you.

**Day 582**

Oikawa arrives at your hotel later in the evening, but you don't answer the door.

So he gives you a call, wondering if you went off exploring on your own, but you still don't answer, even as he peruses the lobby floor. It isn't until the lady at the counter stops him, asks him if he needs any help, that he decides to relent and ask.

"I'm afraid they've already checked out."

It takes him a moment to process the fact that you're gone.

*

 **oikawa:** sawa  
**oikawa:** did I do something wrong?  
**oikawa:** why did you leave??  
**oikawa:** please talk to me

*

It's the same shit, different country.

Maybe you thought you could've made it work because of one grand gesture of faith. You painted the wall; he punched your dad. You kissed him first after reconciling; he promised things would be OK. You believed him; he became complacent.

Same shit, different world.

Nothing's changed.

“It’s OK to want more,” says Aoi, patting you gently on the shoulder. “A boy who won't prioritize you because he has a dream to chase? That's his prerogative. But it's also your prerogative to ask for something else."

You consider it quietly as dad returns with a tower of beer from the local izakaya. "What're we talking about, ladies?"

"Nothing," you say, beaming--and for what it's worth, Aoi plays along. "Just some stuff from the past."

You pull out your phone, glance at his texts, and look back at dad and Aoi, who look absolutely in love with one another.

"Did you two ever fight when you first started dating?" You ask, forgoing the beer and taking a sip of ice cold water instead.

"Not really," says dad, smiling at you. "We may have quarreled here and there, but it's been mostly smooth sailing."

But Aoi knows exactly what you're doing as she takes your hands in hers, "A relationship should make you happier, more often than not. It's balance. If you think you're more unhappy than you are happy, then maybe it's not worth the fight anymore."

Dad looks at her skeptically, "Is this code for something you wanna tell me?"

You just smile.

**Day 644**

For a while, you lay there, wondering if you’ve fucked this up.

When the silence stretches too long, you turn on your side to face him. “Does this feel wrong to you?”

He takes a breath, exhales. “No," he answers, turning on his side too--inching a little closer. "You?"

“It doesn't feel wrong to me," you say. "I feel like this is exactly where I should be--right now."

Then slowly, not all at once, both of you break into a smile.

He pulls you into his arms, hugging you tight. He’s impossibly warm, _impossibly toned_ , and when you’re here, you feel like it’s the safest place in the world.

**Day 600**

**you** : we should break up  
**you** : please don't contact me again

 **oikawa:** what did i do??  
**oikawa:** can you at least tell me??  
**oikawa:** sawa-chan T_T_T  
**oikawa:** is this really how you're going to end this?  
**oikawa:** SAWA

You don't answer him again.

For what it's worth, you meant every word you said.

**Day 650**

Ushjima is the best volleyball player you've ever seen, so it would only make sense that he decided to make this his professional career.

Still, even as you take the stands, finding yourself a quiet corner away from the cheering section -- apparently, you're the only one who didn't get the memo to wear a jersey -- you can't take your eyes off him as he takes the court.

He looks up, scans the crowd, finds you in the corner, and smiles.

You smile back, feeling a flutter in your stomach when he makes his way to the half-court line to stretch.

*

Ushijima is the best of the best and that thought alone has never left your mind.

And yet.

You can distinctly pinpoint when you fell in love with him. It's not at the court, _not in school_ , and it's not during club activities.

It's when you catch him on the bus, offering his seat up to a sullen-looking mother and her five-year-old toddler who apparently has bundles of energy to spare.

He does it with such habit it looks instinctual, and when he catches you staring, you force yourself to look away even though you want to look some more. Though you don't know it at the time, that moment won't leave you for days to come--you find yourself catching his gaze in the halls, you find yourself catching him at his games, and you find yourself catching him after school on the bus because there's nothing more thrilling than having those butterflies in your stomach, even in the mundanity of living.

*

Match point.

He slams down the winning point with a spike so brutal it echoes throughout the entire gym. You leap up and cheer along with the crowd, watching in mild confusion as he makes a direct bee-line for the stairway, past the cheering section--past the fangirls in the front row.

When he gets to your row, you become distinctly aware he's probably gunning for you.

But it isn't until he reaches you, cups your face, and pulls you into a direct kiss that you know.

Your entire section goes silent. You can hear a gasp behind you, but in the moment, you're melting quick, _you're melting fast_ , and when he pulls away, he offers you a look—cold and stern as ever—before heading off from the stands and disappearing onto the court once more.

Wow.

How’s that for romantic gesture?

**Day 700**

Oikawa shows up at your father's wedding with flowers and you show up with Ushijima.

It's a shocking sight, albeit one expected as he watches you greet each table in your bridesmaid gown, Tiffany-blue, with your new boyfriend at your side. He doesn't smile, but he supposes that must be part of the charm that made you fall in love with him to begin with.

Ogata smiles, "Hey--look who it is."

Oikawa nearly balks at the sight of him. (No, it hasn't escaped him for a second that the last time they met, one of them ended up with a black eye.) "O-Ogata-san--congratulations," he stammers, holding out the flowers. "It's a beautiful wedding."

"Thanks," he takes the flowers, handing them off to an assistant who runs off with the bouquet like a thief in the night. "How was your trip from Argentina?"

"A little rough, but I'm here now." He grins. "Just in time for New Years."

"I'm sure your family is ecstatic to have you back."

"They are."

For a while, they stand in awkward silence as Ogata rubs away the knots of tension in his back, throwing Oikawa a look filled with pity that he doesn't quite catch. "Sorry it didn't work out," he says, looking over at the table you're flirting at.

But that's OK. "She looks happy now," says Oikawa, smiling. "A lot happier than when she was with me."

Ogata considers it, looking at Ushijima. "She is."

But Ushijima--he catches sight of Oikawa at the far end of the room, betraying nothing on his face as he nods at him. And for what it's worth, Oikawa nods back, acknowledging him with a nod that reads _fine_ and a heart that feels like it's made of lead.

*

He spends most of his time perusing the garden outside, where the sun's just beginning to set and the fireflies are emerging from their earthen bunkers. He takes a sip of his champagne but the effect of it is hardly the same when he's already had the life beaten out of him.

"Tooru?" He whips around, catches you at the entryway of the venue where you're looking at him with a smile that almost immediately makes him melt. "It's...been a while, huh."

"Yeah," he smiles.

You close the door behind you, taking a hesitant step onto the pathway, "Um, how is everything? How's Argentina?"

"It's good. Busy." He wonders if he should help you, but the intimacy between you has been lost in at least one direction so he decides not to take that chance. "I've missed home--mostly the food. But I'm getting used to it."

"I'm glad." You mean it, hiking up the train of your dress to follow him down the road. "I...um, I wanted to say sorry for how things ended between us."

"It's fine. I'm seeing someone else, so don't worry about it."

A blatant lie, but the wash of relief that comes over you is so profound he can feel his heart break into a million pieces. "That's--I'm so happy for you!" You beam at him, _genuinely meaning it because of course you do_. What did he expect? For you to be upset? You're happy now, and he's nothing but a footnote in your history. "Can I ask who the lucky girl is?"

"A story for another day," he says, laughing.

*

For a while, you just laugh and tell each other old stories from high school until dusk hits the sky in full force--it's dark, and you've already finished your rounds in the garden to arrive back at the venue again.

Ushijima's waiting outside, having removed his suit jacket. When he catches sight of you, he smiles.

And you smile too--Oikawa sees that smile and wonders if he was ever able to make you smile that way.

Ushijima wraps his jacket around you. "You're going to get sick," he says, and you blush when he buttons up his coat around your shoulders, ushering you back in through the door before meeting Oikawa's gaze. "I'll meet you at the table."

You offer him one look--you offer Oikawa one last look, one last smile, before taking off.

He already knows instinctively that's the last time he's ever going to see you.

"Take care of her."

Ushijima doesn't waver, "I will."

And the words he doesn't say: _treat her better than I did_.

*

Ushijima corners you in a bathroom, locking the door as he hikes up the train of your dress. For what it’s worth, you decide to humor him, kissing him deeply as he grabs you by the ass, hauling you onto the countertop sink.

“What’s gotten into you?” You murmur. “Not that I’m complaining—”

His lips meet yours, and you’re craning your neck back, hands raking through his hair.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your neck.

Oh.

You melt under his touch, exhaling, "I love you too."

_I'm so glad I found you again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so some quick thoughts:  
> \--in the original copy, sawa ended up ambiguously with oikawa but i'd always planned for her to end up with ushijima regardless in the rewrite  
> (--no, there was no way sawa and oikawa would've ever worked it out)  
> \--i'm not totally happy with the final copy but whatever!! u live and u learn  
> \--i'm so glad this is finished. i seriously considered never coming back to this story but... I TRY TO KEEP MY WORD...i know how much i hate when i read incomplete stories so i tried my best to keep that in mind when trucking through this final chapter  
> \--thanks to those who stuck with this; i know there arent many of u but know that i appreciate every single one who left a comment or a note of encouragement on other platforms, ya'll are awesome
> 
> if you like ushiwaka consider reading [my new reader fic featuring him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394222/chapters/58842730) :)


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